#he’s my best friend and I will NOT stand for any slander

[bloodstainsandconfetti]

I think it’s important that we talk about Swansea and how he’s VERY MUCH SO meant to be a foil to Jimmy.

While Swansea comes off as grouchy, abrasive, and stubborn, the biggest thing about his character is that he’s HONEST. Brutally so. Meanwhile, Jimmy basically lies through his teeth to both himself, and everyone else, from the first moment we meet his character.

Swansea comes off as stubborn, as if he doesn’t take his coworkers seriously, not because he genuinely looks down on them but because he doesn’t want them to get hurt. While he does see Daisuke as just this naive young adult, we learn in the execution scene that he doesn’t necessarily see that as a bad thing. He wants Daisuke to retain that light that he lost as grew to become grizzled and exploited.

Swansea knows he’s good at his job and so he TAKES RESPONSIBILITY by making sure HES the only one doing the dangerous work. Because he doesn’t WANT to push it onto someone else and get them hurt. Meanwhile, again, Jimmy basically manipulates Daisuke into sacrificing himself all so Jimmy can make sure Curly isn’t dead in medical. (While not even caring what Anya does to herself)

Daisuke is basically Swansea’s “Curly” if that makes sense. There are multiple lines of dialogue that hint to him saving the pod for him, to give him the best chance of survival. However, when he gets horrible injured in the vent, instead of FORCING HIM TO STAY ALIVE in tons of pain (like Jimmy did w/ Curly throughout the whole game) he ends his life BECAUSE he cares about how Daisuke feels and not just how HE feels. Cause we all know Jimmy keeps Curly alive for very selfish reasons.

After everything, Swansea is extremely honest about who he is. The type of person he was and is and could’ve been. The mistakes he’s made, the things he actually cares about, even if they’re flawed or unhealthy. Meanwhile, even then, Jimmy continues to deny what he is and what is intentions are and what he really wants. He CONTINUES to refuse to take any sort of responsibility even when Swansea says to his face that he already sees past it.

Swansea is basically the narrative opposite of Jimmy, while also, funnily enough, kinda being used as a red herring at first. I mean, he’s the fat angry alcoholic old guy who carries an axe everywhere so ofc you’d expect him to be the bad guy. The story even shows you him trying to kill Jimmy/the player without context, to further sort of bait ur expectations. When in reality, he’s the one who saw Jimmy for what he really was before anyone else really did.

[formulawolff]

"keep 'em comin'" - m.v.

pairing: girl best friend!reader x max verstappen

word count: 2.3k

warnings: alcohol consumption, light marijuana usage, cussing, max munching on some cooter! (that will come later in the fic), enemies to friends to lovers, typical men behavior (being creepy in a bar), mentions of physical threats, kelly slander, THINGS ARE MESSY BETWEEN KELLY AND MAX (so if y'all don't like light infidelity/gray areas then don't read) yadayadayada (y'all already know the vibes)

a/n: hellllloooo! <3 this is my first time writing for max so if this isn't quite like him, i apologize in advance. this fic is based off of a request and i had to write about it since i've been feral for max (he finally took off that damned cap!) this may end up as a two or three part series. we'll see, we'll see!

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦ ⊹⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺

"i see the decrepit hag decided to let you out of her clutches tonight. congratulations for being able to be out and about in public without her breathing down your neck!"

the figure standing to your left scoffs, muttering a few incoherent words under his breath. he slides into the booth, propping his chin up with a hand. the other finds the glistening glass, a bead of condensation rolling down, pooling onto the rigid table.

"about that."

"what about it?" you arch a brow, lips connecting with the rim of your own drink, "max, did something happen before you left?"

he shrugs, brows pinching together as he sips on his mixed drink, a decadent yet smooth concoction of his favorite liquors blended together, "it's nothing serious."

"max," setting your glass down, you lean forward ever so slightly, his name louder than normal over the overwhelming mixture of voices and volume, "what. happened."

"oh you know," he waves a hand, careful not to meet your piercing gaze, "she's upset that i was going out to see you. that's all."

the moment max mentioned her, you knew exactly who she was.

she was kelly piquet. max verstappen's beloved wag. the woman who scooped him up the moment that clock struck midnight on his eighteenth birthday.

the woman you loathed more than anyone in the world.

but you wouldn't tell max that.

after all, you couldn't. the pair had been dating for quite some time. and although max wouldn't say it outright, you were well aware that she was not going anywhere anytime soon.

no matter how much the two fought. no matter how much she wanted to make your relationship with max as strained as possible.

your friendship with max had a rocky start. tumultuous, even. the two of you met when you were both seventeen, as your parents were mutual friends. since max was involved in racing, and you aimed to pursue professional photography, max's father suggested that the two of you get to know one another.

of course, at that time, the last thing teenage max wanted was some nerdy girl following him around. especially when there were other teenage boys involved. cool teenage boys who enjoyed to fuck around with fast machinery.

he teased you relentlessly, tormenting you whenever he could. he ridiculed your photographic abilities, scorning the prints or slideshows you provided. often times, he stated that your pictures were, "absolute shit" and your clip compilations "were not going to get you anywhere in formula one."

of course, you matched his energy. after all, you weren't going to take anyone's shit. you knew you had to advocate for yourself. you weren't going to make it in the industry if you weren't assertive.

eventually, your snapshots landed you a job at red bull. well, max did have a part to play in that.

after a couple of years, the dutch driver apologized for the way he treated you at the time, requesting a truce. the truce would consist of you sticking around as his personal media manager.

in turn, he would promote your work to the world of formula one and assist you in your way up the ladder in any way he could. he would land your sponsorships. he would chip in some cash here and there to get you more advanced software or equipment.

the only stipulation was that you had to follow him.

everywhere and anywhere he went. every event. every interview. every grand prix.

no. matter. what.

of course, with the stakes involved, you knew it was too good of a deal to refuse. with max's rise to prominence in formula one, you knew it was now or never.

so, you accepted his offer.

oh jos verstappen, what a bastard you were.

cause now, here you were in vegas, sitting across from the man you loved. well, the man you were in love with.

hopelessly and utterly in love with.

"that isn't unusual for her," you scoff, hands reaching for your purse, "i do have something that could lighten the mood!"

"and that is?" max's gaze follows your hand, making note of the delicately wrapped joint between your fingers.

"my friend mary jane!"

"you of all people know i shouldn't be smoking," the dutch driver shakes his head, yet proceeds to scoot out of the booth anyway, "i'll still come out there with you. i won't be taking any hits though."

"yeah, yeah," you wave a hand, "that's what they all say."

as you slip out of the booth, you feel max's hand connect with your lower back, almost guiding you through the throng of locals. a few of them chirp greetings to max, others chattering, creating a buzz within the air.

well, there went any sort of anonymity.

so much for keeping a low profile for the weekend.

yet, when in vegas, that was almost impossible to maintain. especially when you were a man of max's caliber.

the two of you manage to slip out, just before fans started asking for autographs. of course, max obliged to a few, signing a cap here and an arm there.

even though it was quickly approaching december, the air was mild, dipping in the low fifties. max hovers to your right, shuddering as a breeze rolls through. you curse as it quenches your flame, motioning for max to stand closer.

"can you shield me for a moment, pretty boy?"

"pretty boy?"

from the way the words tumbled from his mouth, max seemingly was not to keen to the idea of being referred to as pretty boy. yet, he inches even closer to you, providing a barrier as the lighter comes to life, igniting your delicate pre-roll.

"what else should i call you?" shrugging, you exhale, the smoke billowing into the night, "or do you prefer world champion?"

"how much did you have to drink before i got here?" the dutch driver cocks his head, his stare almost picking you apart.

"enough," you respond, lips curling into a devious grin, "don't act like you didn't like that."

"i did," he counters, "that's the issue here."

"and why is that an issue?"

"because we used to fucking despise one another. we used to tear one another apart. and now here i am, going out for drinks with you when i shouldn't be. here i am, looking forward to your texts or your snaps when i know i should be thinking about someone else.

fuck, even when i'm with her, my mind wanders to you. we're together all of the fucking time yet i crave you. i miss you when we're apart. what are you doing to me?"

before your mind can even formulate a coherent response, an individual saunters up to the two of you, drinks in hand.

it's an older man, approximately in his early or mid fifties. he's balding, as a few of the greasy hairs were poorly combed over. he was well dressed, but poorly groomed, as there was quite the scruff plaguing his feautures.

"good evening," his words are directed towards you, yet you couldn't help but notice the way his eyes were fixated on your joint, "i was wondering if the pretty lady could exchange a hit or two for a-"

"she's not accepting shit from you," max's voice is low, the driver taking another half step toward you, almost to shield you even further.

"c'mon man," the man drawls, the words slurred, "i wasn't fucking speakin' to ya. i was talkin' to her."

"and i'm talking to you," max's jaw clenches, "get the fuck out of here."

"and you are?" the man arches a brow, "surely not her boyfriend."

"actually i am," the words are forced through gritted teeth, the driver's fists clenched to his sides, "i'm her fiancé. i suggest you leave before i-"

"got it," the man exhales, rolling his eyes, "it was worth a shot. what the fuck ever man."

as he turns to head back towards the bar, you feel fingers find yours, intertwining together. max squeezes your hand gently, "are you okay?"

"fiancé?" relief ripples as you notice his demeanor crumble, "what was that all about? were you manifesting something or-"

"come on," max tugs at your hand, "let's go to another place. get a few more drinks. keep 'em comin'. keep the alcohol flowin', you know?"

"max," clicking your tongue, you frown as your realize your joint was burnt out, "what is going on between you and kelly?"

"i don't want to talk about her right now," the driver won't even look at you, keeping his focus on the glow and ambiance of the city, "we can talk about anything else but her. please. i don't even want to think about her right now. shouldn't you be relieved? why aren't you relieved?"

"because you look stressed the fuck out!" you retort, "and it stresses me out because i love you and i can't handle seeing you all bummed about some hag who is only using you!"

max freezes, your hand flying up to your mouth. heat floods your cheeks, heart thudding against your rib-cage as you realize what just came pouring from your mouth.

"did you just tell me that you love me?"

his voice is soft. dangerously low. merely a whisper, barely audible over the bustling noise of vegas.

tears well up, shame setting your body ablaze as you nod, biting your lower lip, "y-yeah. and i know i shouldn't-"

"shut the fuck up," hands meet with your cheeks, bringing you in close, "just shut the fuck up and come here."

in that moment, max's mouth finds yours. the kiss is tender, brimmed with nothing but passion, breathing life back into your lungs. it was grounding yet exhilarating, waves of euphoria crashing over.

he pulls away, forehead brushing against yours, "why haven't i done this sooner?"

"because kelly-"

"i don't give a fuck about kelly right now."

"give a fuck about me then," you murmur against his mouth, relishing the way his hands explore, roaming along your back, trailing down to your ass, "you think we should take this somewhere more private? before someone snaps a photo of max verstappen making out with his media manager?"

"that's a good idea," he nods, "i'll arrange an uber."

although it was merely minutes in the time it took between getting into the uber and making it to your hotel room, it felt like an eternity. yet, with the way max's hand gripped your thigh the entire drive, you didn't complain. the other hand held onto yours, pressing gentle kisses to your knuckles.

if only this was your everyday life.

if only things were different.

if only he fell in love with you first.

once the two of you were in the elevator, he maintained his composure, as there were other people stepping in and out. there was even a little boy, in awe that his favorite driver was staying in the same hotel as him. max was kind enough to gift him one of his beaded bracelets, a small memento from a win during the 2022 season.

if only that child knew what his favorite driver was really up to.

once that light on your keypad flashed green, his mouth was on yours, tongue gliding along your lower lip, practically begging for access. his hands were all over, tugging on your clothes, desperate to see what was underneath.

"fuck," there's a rumble in his chest as he lays on you on the bed, pinning you to the mattress.

"what?" you can't help but wriggle a little, slightly flustered by the intensity of his gaze.

"you have no idea how much i've thought about this," a dusty rose hue tinges his cheeks, "i-i almost don't know what to do now. i've thought about it so frequently that i had it down to every little detail. and now i have you here, right where i want you but i feel like i'm going to fuck this up and-"

"max," tender fingers sweep locks of hair from his forehead, "do what you feel is right."

"i just want to show you how much i love you. i need you to know how loved you are."

"i think i have an idea," the tip of your nose brushes against his, "is there anything i can do to help?"

"will you let me taste you?"

instinctively, your hips buck forward, legs spreading so that he can have access. you can feel his cock stiffen in his pants, pressing against your inner thigh, aching for some sort of relief.

"yes," you nod, "you can taste me."

"f-fuck," his jaw nearly goes slack as you guide his hand through the waistband of your panties, the pad of his index finger circling your clit, "you're this wet for me? already? my poor baby. all soaked and desperate for me."

"m-max," the way his name falls from your lips is intoxicating, "i need you."

"are you sure this is okay?" he pauses, eyes meeting with yours, "if at any moment you need me to stop, just tell me."

"you are more than okay. i promise."

fingers delicately unbutton your jeans, rolling them down your legs. in the process, you peel off your hoodie and shirt, tossing them to the floor.

just the mere sight of you half-dressed had him coming undone, his inhibitions slipping away by the second. fuck, you were so stunning. someone who deserved to be worshipped and cherished.

far more beautiful than he could have ever imagined.

situating himself between your legs, max's mouth roams, placing wet kisses all over your inner thighs, hips, and abdomen. his tongue flattens against your heated core, savoring the way you squirmed under his touch.

"you need me to taste you baby?" he coos, cocking his head.

"yes," you plead, skin hot to the touch, your clit engorged, folds slick with juices.

"hmmm," he hums, hands grasping your thighs to spread you open further.

"once i get these off of you, you're all mine. and only mine. got that?"

yet, there was one thing that happened to slip max verstappen's mind that night in vegas.

well, one woman.

the woman he referred to as his girlfriend, but the woman he was not in love with.

kelly piquet.

[two-white-butterflies]

three great men and death | daemon targaryen

Description: You were the object of his ire - the foreigner who stole his position as hand. Hate and love are parallel lines. Daemon finds himself running to you after his failed marriages and exiles.

Pairing: the hand! reader/daemon targaryen

Word Count: 3k+ did not bother to check after it passed 3k

A/N: Enemies to lovers. Reader is crazier than Daemon.

There have been stories about his brother's new hand. A great beauty that came from Lys and managed to earn the King's trust. You tell everyone that your purpose as Hand is for the betterment of Westeros, but Daemon does not believe that - how could a foreigner want good for a land she did not come from?

"Power is a curious thing, my lord. Are you fond of riddles?" you inquired, walking past the roses and peonies. "Why? Am I about to hear one?" he asked. His eyes narrowed slightly.

He has slithered his way into your company, seeking to understand you better. He needed to know your purpose; and the best way to undermine the enemy was to pretend to be their ally.

"Three great men sit in a room, a king, a priest and a rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bids the sellsword kill the other two. Who dies?" you inquired, carefully watching him from your periphery.

You did not succeed by being stupid and trusting. You knew what kind of game he was playing at and it would be best to quench this little rebellion of his before it began. "Depends on the sellsword." he surmises, staring at your face and awaiting a reaction.

"Does it? He's not the crown, no gold, no favor with the gods." you continued toying with him. "He has a sword, the power of life and death." Daemon argued, hidden meaning in his tone.

He's telling you that he wields the sword.

"But if it is the swordsman who rules, why do we pretend that kings hold all the power?" the sides of your lips turned upwards. His eyes twinkle slightly, but it loses its glow the moment he opens his mouth.

"I have decided that I do not enjoy your riddles, lady hand." Daemon turned to look at you, escorting you deeper into the garden.

"What I next say is not a riddle." you breathed, cleverly waiting until his eyebrows merge together. "What is it?" he humored.

The facade breaks, your smile dissapears as quickly as it came.

"There have been rumors of you and the Princess. I understand that you aim to slander the Crown's good name - mayhaps even take Rhaenyra to wife as you've already taken her maidenhead." you say.

"- but I want you to understand that the plan is stupid, and that King Viserys plans to throw you back into Lady Royce's arms." you informed, pretending that you were truly concerned about his wellbeing. Daemon's breath stills.

There was no one around you in the gardens. Not a single soul that was able to hear about the ordeal. "Lady hand." he began, his hands circling around your neck, threatening to choke the life out of you.

"I know the truth, that you did take Rhaenyra's maidenhead. But I will not tell your brother if you agree to my proposal." you held his hand, attempting to pry it away from your neck, but his grip tightens.

"Speak." he commanded, his fiery purple eyes glaring daggers upon your own.

"What I offer is a transactional relationship. I keep my silence, and defend you against any accusation, but you must be on my side." you insisted, that twinkle returns in his eyes. Gods, he was unpredictable.

"Against who?" he interrogated.

"Ser Otto. The enemy of my enemy is my friend. He wishes to rid me of this post. He wishes to make his grandson heir. I am the only one standing between the family that you love, and a war." you breathed.

He frees you from his grasp. A strange smile on his face.

"You prove yourself useful, lady hand." he complimented, before abandoning you in front of the Weirwood Tree.

He lays cooly on his bed, watching as you entered his chambers with a hood hiding your face. "I have brought the evidence that you begged for." you informed, throwing a compilation of letters on his bed. "I did not beg for anything, lady hand." he rolled his eyes.

But he still reads the letters that you've presented him.

"These are compilations of Ser Otto's letters to his brother. Clear proof of his plans to supplant your niece." you explained in simpler terms, maintaining the distance between you, in case he think of something else.

You've been allies for half a year now. You've grown to understand that Daemon was the type of man who allowed his emotions to rule over rational thought. His lack of control gave you the upper hand.

"He wants Aegon as King, and by extension, he wants to be King." you continued, seeing his eyebrows merge together in intrigue. "What should we do? Should we tell Viserys?" he asked.

Daemon already had a plan of action in mind - to kill Ser Otto. But that wasn't the smartest course of action. Your plan was inevitably going to end up better than his.

"Ser Otto is the Queen's father. Viserys has always allowed mercy to persevere throughout his rule. Ser Otto will not be punished. He'll be exiled and in a few years, he will be back for revenge. I say that we keep the evidence and wait for the perfect time to use it against him." you strongly advised.

Daemon smiles at you - a real smile, this time.

He pats the empty side on his bed.

You sigh, but you sit beside him anyways.

"I wish to marry Princess Rhaenyra. I need you to think of a plan that will use this to get what I want." he tells you, pointing at the letters.

A loud chuckle escapes your mouth.

"We have a transactional relationship, my prince. I have given you something and you've not given me anything in return." you scoff.

He tilts his head. "If I kill my lady wife, Viserys might give you the Runestone. It would be killing two birds with one stone." he pondered, smiling to himself as his words rhymed.

"Lady Rhea Royce has cousins." you reminded him.

"Her cousin is sworn to the Kingsguard. The rest of the cousins, you tell me have collectively committed a grave crime that could send them in servitude at the Wall." he schemes.

He casts you a look.

"I will threaten them with a letter, and I know them best - they will flee like a feather on top of a bouncing mattress. This is your path to legitimacy, lady hand - a chance to have a title." he continues.

"Viserys will never allow me to have lands and titles of my own." you looked away from him. A woman from Lys, inheriting a great castle. "The King has always granted your petitions. He treats you like his own daughter. He will give you the Runestone. It is between you and me." he says with certainty.

He takes a deep breath, reaching for his robes on the chair.

He stands up.

"Where are you going?" you inquired.

"To do exactly what I've told you." he rolled his eyes, lifting his grey hood until it was over his head.

Prince Daemon Targaryen was going to be the death of you.

There was a stinging feeling in your heart. Were you cruel for not telling him about the engagement between Laenor and Rhaenyra? It wasn't like you wanted him to remain in the dark about it - but the idea of him marrying his niece brought shivers down your spine.

It felt wrong.

"It behooves me how half of House Royce flees the very second Lady Rhea is murdered. Do you have any idea why that is?" King Viserys asks you while pouring himself a cup of tea.

"They must've murdered her, my king. Why else?" your eyebrows merge together, a line that you've rehearsed a million times in front of the mirror. It was wrong to lie. There was a time in your life where you were pure, unable to lie, but those days were gone now.

You've given this world pieces of your beliefs until none remained the same. This was the law of life - you reminded yourself. There were only two types of people, the preys and the predator. The ones taking and the ones getting took. It wasn't fair, but life was never fair.

"There has been a vacancy in the Runestone. You've been loyal to the crown and to the people of this kingdom, and thus, I wish to endorse you in claiming the Runestone." he says with kindness in his tone.

Your eyes lit up.

You didn't even have to ask him for it.

"I've always admired your dedication. All the sleepless nights that you offered to ensure that my nights would be filled of sleep. There is not that many years in front of me, and before I pass - I wish to repay your dedication and loyalty." he finished.

You force a smile on your face.

"Thank you, your grace. I promise to protect Rhaenyra and if she ever offers me a seat in her council in the future, I wish to offer her the same dedication and loyalty." you thanked.

A genuine chuckle escapes your mouth as you continued dancing with Ser Harwin Strong. There was a certain tranquility in his features. He brought you peace, made you remember a kinder version of yourself.

"You are beautiful, my lady." he complimented you.

There have been hundreds of men that have called you exactly that. There was always lust behind their eyes, but Harwin was different - his eyes had the same twinkle as Daemon's. He looked like he was telling you the truth - that he admired you too.

"I assume that those sentiments have been provided to numerous other maidens in this court, but I still am thankful that you find me thus." you danced to the music, staring deep into his eyes.

You were aware of Daemon's gaze upon your figures. You couldn't understand why he was looking at you - and not Rhaenyra. The wedding has not been conducted yet - he should steal her, marry her.

"I've not told anyone that before. Only you." he insisted.

You could see in his eyes that he was telling the truth.

"Of course, my lord." you smiled cheekily.

"You fancy my lady hand?" Viserys leaned over so that his brother was able to hear his voice. Daemon rolls his eyes. "Her?" he scoffs. "She is a clever and sly little thing. Sometimes, I find myself agreeing with whatever proposal she brings forth - I do not know the purpose but I know that it is for the betterment of the realm." Viserys admits.

Daemon glances at his brother.

You were dancing circles around them.

"If I had a son around her age, I would've wed him to her. She is a lowborn girl, but she knows our highborn games." Viserys says.

There were times where Daemon thought about the feel of your skin. How your voice would sound in the early morning. He wonders if your palms were warm enough to soothe his freezing ones. But alas, those are thoughts that he keeps to himself, because he cannot make the mistake of falling in love with you.

He knows that he is incapable of loving a woman like you. Because you are too good for him, too much like him. He craves his brother's attention and he fears that once he has you - he'll abandon his purpose. He fears that when he realizes that you are all he wants, he'll be content and happy.

He's not ready for a time like that yet.

He is still standing on the threshold, unable to cross the line.

"There are leeches on your throne. The lady hand is loyal to Rhaenyra. It would be wise to keep her." Daemon advised, before standing up and making his way into the dance.

He's not failed to observe you dancing with Ser Harwin. He intends to have a little fun of his own.

He smiles at Lady Laena.

"You are almost as beautiful as your brother." he teased.

Daemon, always so busy in catching up with the dance - too late to realize that it was an illusion, and that there's no where to cling on to.

He found peace shortly after that.

He married Lady Laena and you married Ser Harwin Strong. Thousands of miles away, yet your lives still mirrored each other. He could not speak on your behalf, but he knew that Laena was good for him - she was kind and sweet.

She did not care about the highborn games in Kingslanding. All she wanted was a warm home with little children running along the halls. "How is the babe?" he inquired, placing a hand on top of her swollen stomach. It was their third child.

"They are well, but they miss home." she replied, sitting beside him on the bench. "When will we return to Westeros? I miss Driftmark." she admitted, resting her head on Daemon's shoulders.

Daemon couldn't find it in himself to return home. He loved Laena, but he knows that it would ruin him to see you. With Rhaenyra it was different - their love made itself known, but with you? You both drifted away from each other before that love could release itself.

He fears that seeing you would make him admit that something has been indeed missing.

"Rhaenyra has given birth to another baby boy named Joffrey. And your brother tells me that your old friend, the lady hand, has given birth to her second child with Ser Harwin. A little babe named Duncan." Laena continued, hoping that it would sway her husband into returning.

"We should offer our condolences too." Laena paused.

"- is the babe dead?" Daemon inquired, his wife shakes her head.

"There was a fire in Harrenhal. Ser Harwin died with Ser Lyonel." Laena informed. "What?" Daemon's eyes narrowed.

Before Laena could answer his question, there was a stinging sensation in her stomach, telling her that the babe was to come. "The babe is coming, Daemon." she breathed sharply.

Daemon stares coldly as his wife's body is lowered into the ocean. Consumed by the fire of her own dragon. "I offer my condolences, your daughters look exactly like Laena. My children look like Harwin too and it has been a great pain." you admit, sitting beside him.

He continues looking at the horizon. Unwilling to look at you in fear that his resolve would fade. "How is life, Daemon?" you asked.

"It could be better." he admits. "- and how is your life, lady hand?" he asked in an amused tone. Though, he still refused to meet your eyes.

"My oldest daughter is betroth to Prince Jacaerys. Believe that whatever transaction we did or did not have is ancient history." you cleverly reminded him, while also hinting that your loyalties shift like the tides.

"You wish your daughter be Queen?" he asks plainly.

Your shared language of being blunt with each other not forgotten by time. "I wish our kingdom be safe." you corrected.

"Of course." he exhales.

"Goodbye, Daemon." you place a hand on his shoulder.

He find himself involuntarily looking at you.

The sight of you takes him off guard.

Nothing has indeed changed.

It was a year later when he saw you again. He visited Kingslanding with both of his daughter, for his ill brother.

"My king, you have visitors. Prince Daemon and his daughters, Baela and Rhaena." you announced, allowing the small family to enter Viserys' chambers.

"Brother," Viserys says weakly.

"It has been far too long." Daemon smiles, sitting on Viserys' bedside.

Daemon sits beside you on the bench. Time did not leave an indent on your features, still as beautiful as the day he left. "I never told you but I enjoyed your riddles." he admitted.

You respond with a chuckle.

"Time hath given me the answers to some, but there is one riddle that remains in my mind. Three Great Men." he says, still remembering the story from long ago. "Who dies?" he inquired.

Your past comes back to you. Memories in all of its color.

"I don't know the answer but I know that all men must die." you repeated the answer that you observed from decades back.

"- once the dust settles, and the sellsword swings his sword, someone will want revenge. The sellsword will certainly have his head on a spike soon after, for killing the king, the priest, or the rich man. I've always reminded you and Viserys that I am lowborn - and despite having land and marrying a highborn man, I am still. The highborn schemes are costly, and only benefit a single person. I do not know who lives, but I know who dies. The sellsword. The people." you answered.

"I wanted to leave my post the moment King Viserys gave me Lady Rhea's land, but I remained because I feared that Ser Otto would scheme to have Aegon on the throne. Scheme of war." you reminded.

There were many things that you did for your own benefit, but this wasn't one of them.

"- and the smallfolk are the ones who pay heavily. I thought about a little girl in the slums of Flea Bottom, with ambitions and intelligence greater than any highborn lord. The only difference was, she was born there and you were born here." you continued.

Daemon takes a casual sip of his ale.

"How long has it been since you've last step foot inside of a tavern?" he teased with a small chuckle. "I've only ever gone with you." you smiled, leaning on the chair and soaking in the warm ambiance of the place. Gods, you were the only woman here. How sad.

"Do you ever think about an alternative future? If we'd been the ones married?" you suddenly inquired, allowing the alcohol to speak in your behalf. "What do you mean by that?" he asks, eyebrows merging together and suddenly transported to a past before the fall.

"We were amazing, gods. We had the entire kingdom wrapped around our fingers. Viserys offered an engagement between us, and I declined him because I knew how much you loved Rhaenyra. But seeing that you're not married to her, still, makes me believe that what you felt for her was nothing but limerence." you surmised.

Able to read him like an open book.

"I loved Laena, and I love our daughters." he says, knowing that he wouldn't have it any other way. "I loved Harwin too, he was one of the few men that made me abandon rational thought." you reply, agreeing with him that you wouldn't have it any other way too.

"- but gods, I did burn for you." you added with a chuckle. You take another sip of your ale. "I thought that if we were together, then there was nothing in this world that could be out of reach." you hummed.

Daemon Targaryen was standing at the threshold and he finally has the courage to cross the line. "I did love you. I still love you." he corrected himself. Your head turns in his direction, shocked at his sudden confession.

"There were nights where I'd think about your beauty, the feel of your skin, your voice. But I kept those thoughts to myself, because you would never indulge yourself in me. I knew how dangerous I was. How much I craved my brother's approval. I didn't want it to ruin you. I didn't want you to turn against me." he admits in a low tone, careful not to be heard by anyone.

"I figured that I could only love you from afar, because if you truly knew me then I would drive you away. Time has made me realized that I am not as awful as I believe myself to be." he smiles, but before he could get another word in - your lips were on his.

Finally ready to be together.

It only took more than a decade.

[kings-highway]

haikyuu ships but its ways they said "i love you" before they had the courage to say "i love you."

daisuga: Suga's favourite movie of all time doesn't really mesh with Daichi. He thinks it's confusing and weird, and the gore is way over the top. But Suga loves it, and the comfort it provides, especially when he's sick, so Daichi always watches it with him even if he hates it. "Why do you always agree to this?" Suga asks, as Daichi's settling in to ride out another viewing. "Because it's something you love," he replies, as if this were the most obvious thing in the world.

iwaoi: Iwaizumi doesn't think he's ever going to convince Oikawa that he's the best setter, or that he's worked hard enough, or that he doesn't need to compare himself to everyone else. But he hates the way Oikawa can't seem to find value in himself outside of some seemingly fickle ranking system in his mind. So when they're fighting, and Oikawa keeps saying that it's just "objective fact" that Tobio is better than him, Iwa has to grab him by the face and tell him: "I won't let you slander things I care about."

ushiten: Tendou had often made the joke about being Ushijima's best friend, because it was funny. All their team, their classmates, always laughed. "He's my bestest bud," Tendou would say, because the whole school knew they made a funny pair, and it was laughable to think Ushijima would ever articulate a sentiment as juvinile as "best friends." Of course, when Ushijima realizes that people find this joke funny, he's very confused. "If it is a matter of not being good enough for you," Ushijima says, because he cannot think of a reason anyone would disparage Tendou, so it must be joke at his own expense, "then I will earn it."

kagehina: Hinata gets injured late in their second year. Its not the worst injury in the world and will heal just fine, but it takes him out of practice for a few weeks at the beginning of summer. He expects Kageyama to forget about him during this time. What good is a spiker who can't jump, can't even practice? But that doesn't happen. Kageyama seems to, if Hinata's not mistaken, dote on him. Carries his stuff, scolds him for not elevating the offended ankle properly, tells him to be careful. "Why are you being so fussy?" hinata asks. "Because I can't stand the idea of you not making a perfect recovery," Kageyama replies. "Who else could keep up with me?"

tsukkiyama: Yamaguchi likes to tease Tsukki over his lack of other friends. "You're too mean, you scare them away!" and "You're gonna have one lonely birthday if the only person who bothers to show up is me!" The last time he said this, though, Tsukki had replied with: "You're enough." and Yamaguchi still hasn't quite gotten over it yet. They celebrate his birthday just the two of them that year.

arankita: Aran came over to help on the farm over spring break. He didn't have to - between you and me, he hated that kind of physical labour anyway - but it was a way to spend a little more time with Kita before they graduated. At the end of the break, Kita surprises him by giving him a key to the house, "for emergencies," just in case. When Aran blusters and tries to ask why, Kita says: "I trust you." Considering Kita has never trusted anything except for himself and his own actions, Aran isn't sure any spoken sentiment could have meant more in that moment.

[mxtxfanatic]

Let’s talk Yi City Arc! I’ve seen a few posts since my time in the fandom that talks about the Yi City Arc as unnecessary or out of place in the whole of the mdzs narrative. I’ve even seen some suggest that the disconnect is because Yi City was originally a separate story to mdzs, a sort of prototype, if you will, to explain it away. I, too, after my first read questioned the significance of this arc to the overall story. However, the Yi City arc and its placement so early in the novel is actually just a huge and very clever spoiler to most of the important plot points of the overarching story… if you know what plot points to look for, which an un-spoiled first-time reader would not. So let’s talk about those spoilers:

1) The righteous cultivation clans’ refusal to stand against evil—and, really, their indulgence of it—leads to the wiping out of an entire clan and a monastery as well as the deaths of two powerful cultivators unaffiliated with any major sect.

The “righteous” cultivation clans happily ignore that fact that the Jin Clan is amassing power through unscrupulous guest disciples, and it is only when Xiao Xingchen, an outsider, brings the crime against the Chang Clan to light do they bother to pretend to do anything about it. However behind the scenes, the Jin Clan assassinates their only real opposition, and the other clans, great and small, continue to do nothing as Xue Yang is released to commit another massacre. The Jin are never held responsible for their actions. Likewise, all the clans turn away from Wei Wuxian, an outsider, when he calls out the Jin Clan’s crimes against the Wen remnants and accuses them of amassing power via poaching vassal clans and attempting to steal his tools. Behind the scenes, the Jin work to undermine Wei Wuxian’s reputation before joining in to massacre Wei Wuxian and the Wen remnants. The Jin are never held accountable for this, which directly leads into the Xue Yang situation.

2) Xiao Xingchen has his reputation slandered by Xue Yang killing others using his sword.

After Xiao Xingchen kills himself, Xue Yang begins using his sword to enact “vengeance” on the remnants of the Chang Clan, who he considers as having “betrayed” Xiao Xingchen. Finding the signature of Xiao Xingchen’s sword on the slain bodies leads the cultivation world to believe that a disillusioned Xiao Xingchen is killing in revenge. In much the same way, Wei Wuxian is used as a scapegoat by the cultivation world whenever bad things happen, such as the presence of walking corpses or the mass digging of graves. In neither situation does any clan investigate the true events of the situations, happy to blame the easiest suspect and allow the unrest to continue. In both situations, Xiao Xingchen and Wei Wuxian are eventually found innocent of the crimes for which they are accused, and the true culprit is revealed.

3) Xiao Xingchen is betrayed by someone he considered close to him, which eventually leads to his death.

Xiao Xingchen, due to being literally blinded by his sacrifice, ends up running into, rescuing, and caring for his mortal enemy, Xue Yang. Taking advantage of Xiao Xingchen’s blindness, Xue Yang tricks him into murdering a bunch of innocents and his best friend, causing him to commit suicide. Wei Wuxian, similarly, is betrayed by a close friend he kept near, figuratively blinded by a former childhood friendship and the present debt he felt owed to said friend’s parents. This misplaced trust directly leads to his death.

4) Xiao Xingchen must give up his eyes for Song Lan to see again, because Baoshan Sanren is not magical.

This is probably the biggest spoiler of the entire arc, but by the time you get to where this information is relevant, you’d probably have forgotten that this was even said. Xue Yang blinds Song Lan after destroying his home, and to atone for this, Xiao Xingchen goes to his master, Baoshan Sanren, to beg for her help. However, Baoshan Sanren cannot make something out of nothing. Mxtx explicitly writes that tidbit into the narration. Song Lan goes up the mountain blind and comes down with eyes. Xiao Xingchen goes up the mountain with eyes and comes down blind. Song Lan was given Xiao Xingchen’s eyes.

Much later in the story, Jiang Cheng loses his golden core. Wei Wuxian offers the miracle solution of Baoshan Sanren “giving” him a new one. Jiang Cheng, obviously skeptical, questions Wei Wuxian up until the moment he must go up “Baoshan Sanren’s mountain” alone. Wei Wuxian descends, alone, looking pale and weak. Later, when Wei Wuxian is ambushed by the Wen, Wen “Core-melting Hand” Zhuliu touches him and is visibly shocked by a discovery that he then keeps to himself. Jiang Cheng emerges from the mountain with a new golden core, while Wei Wuxian emerges from the Burial Mounds with a new cultivation method wholly independent of the need for a golden core. The Yi City arc tells us why this is: “Baoshan Sanren” cannot make something out of nothing.

And these are just the major parallels I remember off the top of my head. However, while a reread makes a lot of these parallels directly applicable to specific plot points in Wei Wuxian’s own story, I would argue that the biggest role the explicit paralleling is meant to play for a new reader is to make you question the dominant narrative of the main story. The narration tells us that Wei Wuxian is a bloodthirsty man who may as well be a demon, known for cruelty and vengeance. We see none of that from his character when he is resurrected. Then we get a mini-drama where a man with attributes Wei Wuxian directly relates to, with a story Wei Wuxian directly compares to his own life, is scapegoated by society, killed, then eventually vindicated. If nothing else, the Yi City Arc is meant to make you, as a reader, stop and go “Hey, wait a minute, what if Wei Wuxian isn’t the bad guy here???” And once you understand that, you should start questioning everything the prologue told you, just like the juniors start to question what they were told about Xiao Xingchen post Yi City in their group debrief.

[sukioyakio]

thought

Cowboys!Sukuna who is the most handsome and fearsome cowboy in the west,Who’s is ever western girl crush,every time he out girls were always talking his ear off or trying everything in the book to get in his pants (I would to-WHAT WHO SAID THAT🫢).His large muscular body was a dream to have wrapped around your body,while he fuc-.He Was always challenging other cowboys to a race,he always have that smirk that made girls dream things about.(he always in my head and it not even in dreams anymore)

Cowboy!Sukuna who originally said that he wouldn’t go out with you aka his best friend but somehow finds himself going to. Cowboy!Sukuna who is surprised that you decided to not wear any of your Adam slander outfits;the ones you always wear whenever your on the barnyard or field but instead to wear a something decent.(Flare jeans and a cute cropped top with gloves and boots on)

Cowboy!Sukuna who has been staring glancing at you for a bit now,watching you goof around the dance floor,with that same breath taking smile you always have on.And he takes notice of the other cowboys in the bar looking at the dance floor and even looking at you. (What a good man,he already look like a walking candy bar who just waiting to be eate-Woah woah I’m gonna stop) Cowboy!Sukuna who was getting quite irritated by multiple girls that were trying to get into his pants,and constantly flirting with him.As he just glares them off or just start off say that he’ll never fuck a whore like them.As he gets another drink to get him through the hours.

Cowboy!Sukuna who walks towards you on the dance floor because he was getting annoyed of those others cowboys staring bored he said to you and you made jokes about how he such a Lone Wolf,and he nudged you on the shoulder and you laugh while nudge him back.

Cowboy!Sukuna who hears you say that your going back to the bar to get a drink and then go back to the dance floor,but that was ten minutes ago and he was starting to get a bit annoyed.Now walking down to the bar he see you talking to a Low Ass Cowboy.More like the cowboy mouth just spitting out his ass.He just leans over the wall where he wouldn’t be seen.

He says that it wasn’t his business to tell you to go away from those Ass talkers.

Cowboy!Sukuna,who saw what cross his mind,and completely charged toward your direction,as If he couldn’t stand the thought of you going to get fucked by some small dick prick and did something he knew he shouldn’t have. He put his own hat on your head (it a rule of the cowboy,basically saying if a cowboy put or you put there hat on,it their way of saying that your there’s).

Sukuna knew that you don’t even know what he was doing,and he knew immediately when your confused eyes looked up at him with your doe eyes lance with confidence and challenge the same eyes he had dreams about.

The same girl he said to himself that he would get over,but he could never do.Your face,your eyes, those soft lips, your curves that somehow make him feel like your the one who intoxicates him with your existence.He never mind when you wear your little Adam slanders fits,to be honest he enjoys it more then you trying to fit in more with others whores.

Don’t know should I continue this or ACTUALLY focus on part two of usemehuh

Please be more then happy to leave comments or your opinion in the comments.

[multi-fandom-simp]

Forever and always.. or maybe never.

Pairings: Aemond Targaryen x reader

Hanahaki Disease!AU

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.

Summary: Some say that you cannot die from a broken heart, but how wrong they are. When your lover and husband, Aemond Targaryen begins to find comfort in another, the universe takes pity on you. Well, if you can count a deadly flower disease as pity.

❗️TW❗️: Profanity, mention and descriptions of blood, descriptions of choking and vomiting, hints to infidelity, mild mature scene, violence, character death, angst

(A/N: Hello, this is my own take on Hanahaki's disease with Aemond! Feel free to comment your thoughts, I am always open to criticism and feedback! I hope you enjoy!)

Word Count: 3.3K

Your love for Aemond hadn’t always been unrequited. At least you’d like to think it wasn’t. Both of you had grown together in the red keep as children. The two of you read together, ate together, and overall grew together. Aemond was your best friend before he was your betrothed. Whenever his mother was busy, it was your side that he clung to. The two of you were so attached at the hip that Alicent even took you to driftmark with them. You and the beast that came with you of course. No one really knows how you stumbled upon a hyena pup, nor how you tamed it to your side as a child. Nevertheless, they never forbid you from having it. If the Targaryens could have their dragons, and the Starks their dire wolves, then certainly you could have the tricky little beast that you insisted on calling Lark. In some ways, Alicent was thankful that you insisted on keeping it. After all, it was your hyena that stood between Aemond and the other children on that fateful night in driftmark. The beast had acted as your legs and ran faster than you could to reach the devastating brawl before you. Despite Aemond’s wails of pain, Lark refused to let the guards come too close. Only when you arrived did she move aside. Regardless of being young, that was the first night you realized your feelings for Aemond Targaryen. The very sight of him bleeding and broken struck you so deeply that you felt as if you had been maimed too. Alicent had noticed the change as well as she watched you stand by her son's side whilst he received stitches. Her dark eyes gazed deeply at how tightly you held Aemond’s hand, as if he would disappear. Aside from her, no one had ever loved her son this passionately, not even his own father. 

“Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders” Rhaenyra demanded.

“ Was the blade of your son’s knife not enough sharpness for the night?” All eyes turned to you in surprise. You had never been known to speak out if it did not benefit you. Most of the time you were seen standing to the side, watching while others tore each other apart. Aemond could always see past it, see your true intentions. He knew you were studying how different people fought and where their weak points were. You had been around the red keep long enough to know that Lucerys Velaryon was Rhaenyra’s soft spot, and tonight you planned to use that against her. 

“ You should watch your tongue when you speak to me” Rhaenyra warned, her eyes flickering over to her father to see if he would do anything. 

“ or what, you’ll have Lucerys cut it out like he did Aemond’s eye” The neutrality on your face was enough to both scare and amaze Aemond. 

“ You dar-”

“ Enough! My son has lost an eye and now you insist on arguing with a young girl?” Alicent moved up next to you, a hand on your back in support. She knew how terrifying it was to stand alone in a room full of adults scrutinizing you. That’s how her wedding felt after all. The queen’s hand never wavered through the interrogation of the green children. You held Aemond’s hand and she held you. Until things escalated that was. When the queen rushed towards Rhaenyra you stepped in front of Aemond. Shielding him from the sight of his mother in the midst of such violence. All Aemond could see in the midst of chaos was you, and all you could see was the river of blood on Rhaenyra’s arm. Little did you know how familiar you would be with crimson rivers in due time. 

It was shortly after that night when your betrothal to the second son was announced. Alicent assured that it was needed to form an alliance between your family and theirs, when in reality it was a match made to ease the worried queen’s heart. In her eyes, no one else was a better match for Aemond than you, and for the longest time, you believed her. Oh, how foolish you were. 

Six years passed with ease for the two of you. The first four were filled with fleeting touches, deep conversations, and young love. 

“What is this, my lady, a journal?” Aemond’s voice floated around you as his chin found purchase on your shoulder. 

“ And if it is?” You hummed, closing the leather-bound book a bit too quickly.

“ Then I fear I must inspect it. Wouldn’t want my future wife to be keeping secrets from me.” You recognized the playful jest in Aemond’s voice and wasted no time in rushing up from the bench. 

“ Not so fast, my love.” Aemond chuckled, ensnaring you from behind. 

“ Aemond!” You protested, smacking his locked arms with the leather bound book. 

“ Have I ever told you how much I adore it when you fight back?” Aemond snickered, his breath hot on your neck. 

“ You pervert!” You feigned offense before looking ahead to your pet, “ Lark, get him girl, c’mon!” 

“ You know she won't come. That ole girl loves me as much as she loves you." Aemond smirked, whistling for Lark in the way you taught. 

            " Traitor." You grumble with a hidden smile as the Hyena trots over to the pair of you casually.

The two of you were married when he was seventeen and you were sixteen. Your union was repeated twice over. Once in front of a sept full of people, and then in the tradition of old valyria. Aemond wanted reassurance that you would never part from him. Your marriage fueled two more years full of what was now mature love. 

The edge of your teeth pulled at the pillow of your bottom lip as you stared at the dark oak door. The sound of jeering men swarmed your thoughts and threatened the bile at the back of your throat. You tried to hide your discomfort for Aemonds sake, but he was keen to your reactions by now. 

“ Do not fret, my love, I will not let them hear your noises. I would never let them hear what is only meant for me and you.” Aemond spoke lowly, using your hips to turn you towards him and away from the door. 

“ They’ll hear regardless.” You muttered bitterly, “They’re sat out there with their ears pressed against the door just wa-”

“ I said they would not hear you and I meant it” Aemond murmured into your ear with a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath it. 

“Aem-” You sighed contently.

“That’s it..sȳz riña.”Good girl. Your breathing faltered as the pet name slipped past his lips. He had figured out how much you liked to be praised from your journals.

“ You r-remebered…”You managed to gasp as he trailed down your neck. 

“ I remember anything and everything that has to do with you, my love. I always will.” Aemond promised between wet kisses. You shouldn’t have believed him, but you did. 

You never would’ve thought that you could fall deeper in love with Aemond Targaryen after that night, but nine months later proved you wrong. The sight of him by your side as you delivered your son set permanent hearts in your eyes. He had not cared for the blood or screams, only you and the babe. The babe who he later named Aemys because it was as close as he could get to amethyst, your favorite color. Every little detail of  the things he did revolves around you. That’s what fueled your denial the first time you coughed up blood. 

Your eyes stared hard at the bloody petal laying in your palm. Had that come from you? You had read strange tales of those who bled flowers, but you believed it only to be fiction. Surly your blood would not change at the ripe age of ten and nine. 

“ The flower that once bloomed love will soon bloom blood. “ Helaena aimlessly mumbled to herself from beside you. 

“ What..?”Your heart sped up as you analyzed her words. No one had ever paid any mind to her silly riddles, except for you. 

“ Blooming blood blooms a burial.” This time Helaena was focused on you as she spoke. Her eyes filled with unknown sorrow. You left Aemys to play with his cousins as you rushed to the library. No one else was there to question your  sanity as you pulled book after book from the shelf to find the old dornish fables that lay hidden among them. 

“Hanahaki..”Every word, every page, and every definition seemed to tear you apart further as you read. No other condition led to flowery bile except for this one. Aemond loved you though. How could this be possible?

Your thoughts would be answered two morrows later when Aemond returned from his siege of Harrenhal. Everyone had expected to see him arrive on dragon back alone, certainly not with a strong bastard. A gorgeous strong bastard at that. You felt your chest tighten as you gazed upon her dark flowy locks and enchanting eyes. Oh by the seven, how could you spite him for loving someone like her? If circumstances were different, then perhaps you too would fall under her spell. It wasn’t until you saw the way she clung to Aemond’s arm that the coughing fit started. This had to be it. What else could it be? Aemond hated physical contact with strangers, yet he let a previously unknown wetnurse cling to him like a paramour. The harder you thought about it, the harder you coughed. The fit only resulted in a petal or two, but in time that would grow. The longer Alys rivers stayed, the worse you got. Both you and the universe could feel Aemond straying from you, even if he spoke differently. 

“I am not in love with her!”Aemond snapped, reaching his breaking point in this petty argument that had started hours ago at dinner. 

“ You do not see the things I see, Aemond. The way you defend her, encourage her, look at her…all in the way you used to look at me-” It took effort to fight down the sickness as you fought. It had been months, but you made no move to tell Aemond, you couldn’t.

“ I do not love her as I love you-”

“ Yes, but you love her!” You cried in outrage, gripping the wall near you for support. Everything became so out of focus as you spoke the words. It was the first time you had ever admitted it to yourself. The dew of brick cooled your skin as you leaned against the wall. Your body trembled with deep echoey coughs as petals tore their way up your throat. 

“ I did not mean to make you sick, dear wife” Aemond spoke softly and simply. Wife. He had never called you that before, not even on your wedding night. It was always my love or Ñuha prūmia. How ironic for him to call you his heart when sooner or later he would be the reason yours cease to beat. 

“ Just go, Aem, please.” You pleaded, turning away, “I do not wish to fight.” 

“ As you wish.” Aemond’s bow before he left was the final straw to crack your heart open. Why must he be so formal when you stand dying a few feet away? How can he not see how badly you suffer? Were the shadows beneath your eyes, or the crack of your lips not big enough clues for him? Would you need to be dead for him to finally understand?

Unfortunately for you, that’s exactly how it was going to be. Everyone else around you had begun to notice the shift in your behavior. The fatigue, the paleness, and the emotions. Alicent first noticed it when she sat in the nursery with you, Helaena, and the children just after supper. She saw the way your eyes refused to leave Aemys as if it would be your last look. The way you held him was the same way she held Aemond when he lost his eye. 

“ He’s a clever boy.” Alicent smiled as Aemys recited a word back to one of his cousins. 

“ That he is.” You agreed, melancholy ghosting your lips. It hurt the queen to see you this way. You were a part of her almost as much as her children. You came to her as a child she was not forced to love nor conceive. Yet you wormed your way into her heart as if she had carried you. The sight of you so sickly and sad tugged at Alicent’s heart. 

“ You’re sick, are you not?” Alicent proclaimed in observation rather than a question. 

“ Mhm, In a way I suppose I am.” You hummed out softly. It had gotten to the point where it was hard to speak most days. The petals had begun to come up in thick, dry heaves, with occasional thorns that tore at your throat. 

“ Have you told Aemond?” The queen inquired. 

“ Aemond is the reason I’m sick in the first place.” You grumbled before sighing in defeat, “ Or I suppose it’s more of my fault. I was foolish to think he would ever actually love me.”

“ You don’t mean-” Alicent’s soft words trailed off abruptly. Alicent Hightower was no stranger to the hanahaki disease. She too had suffered through it once. Except she learned how to get around it.

“ I do.” You answered simply, with no trace of sadness or indifference.

“ There are ways around it my d-”

“ Such as forgoing my love for Aemond, I know. I could live a long life if I cast aside every loving memory I hold of him, but alas it is not that easy. I have tried, if that brings you any comfort. In the midst of the night when my eyes are swollen from tears and the blood in my throat is so thick I cannot breathe, I have tried, and I have failed.” Alicent’s eyes well with tears as you speak, almost as if she’s dared to imagine you in such dismay. You reach out to soothe her hands comfortingly, but she grips onto yours tightly instead. 

“ It is not easy, but you must keep trying.” Alicent urges, a wobble to her voice. 

“ There is no reason for me to put myself through the agony of erasing my happiness when I am already in physical torment. The sight of Aemond is the very reason I wake up every morning. Hearing his laugh, seeing his smile, and feeling his warmth are all things that have kept me going. Forgetting those would be forgetting myself.” You reason, a wisp of remembrance in your eyes. 

“ If not for yourself, then for Aemys” Alicent argues. 

“ Aemys is one of the reasons I have chosen to give up. Every time I look at him I see Aemond. They are alike in everything but the eyes. The mere sight of that boy reminds me of the night he was made, of the love and passion Aemond had for me. Yet he no longer holds in regards to me. I would rather Aemys hear stories of his parent’s love than grow up with two plain parents.” The child in topic bursts into giggles a few inches away, stealing your attention from the queen. Your eyes crinkle with happiness and you move to turn towards him, but Alicent holds firm. 

“ Aemys needs his mother.” She argues once more. 

“ He does not. Aemys will have a loving father and grandmother by his side. Alongside his aunt Helaena, Uncle Daeron, and three beautiful cousins. Even Aegon cares for the little rascals’ life.” You chuckled. 

“ That is n-”

“ Please, I have made my choice. I appreciate your council, but it is too late. I fear after I lay my son to sleep, it will be my last night alive. I thank you for all the love and comfort you have given me in my lifetime. I love you, mother.” You pressed the meat of your cheek against Alicent’s hand in farewell before standing.

“ If you’ll excuse me-” As you stood to retrieve your son, Alicent excused herself from the room hastily. Never did she think she would find herself running through the castle’s corridors, but yet here she is. Alicent’s heels had been long forgotten and the emerald hem of her dress dragged upon the stone as she made haste to the library, where Aemond would be. 

“ Aemond! Ae-” The frantic shrill of the queen mother’s voice echoes throughout the shelves. 

“ Mother?” Aemond calls out, emerging from a row with a disheveled Alys in tow, “ Is something wrong?”

“ You hide away fondling a wet nurse while your wife withers away! Have I truly raised you this way?” The despair in Alicent’s voice takes Aemond by surprise. He reaches out to hold her arms, but she pulls away. 

“ She is not withering away, mother. She has assured me that it is just a small cold.” Aemond speaks calmly, in hopes to ease his mother’s franticness. 

“ A small cold!? She has every sign of hanahaki disease and you have not suspected a thing?” Alicent refuted. 

“ Because it is not possible! I love her!” Aemond snaps. 

“ Not enough!” Alicent sighs, “ In no world should I have had to be afraid of letting her go in fear that I would not see her again. She has accepted her death, Aemond. How far out of love have you fallen with her to the point where your wife greets death openly?” 

Aemond doesn’t bother with a reply because he’s already on his way out of the door. His pounding steps reverberate through the empty halls and the tremble of panicked breathing surrounds him. Fear nearly eats him alive as he reaches the door to your marital chambers. Never has he been terrified to open those doors to the sight of you. He had never once feared  finding you dead, but now he has. Slowly but surely, Aemond pushes the giant oak open. He spots you knelt on the balcony in your nightdress, looking up at the stars. Lark lay whining at your side until she hears Aemond shuffle forward. Much to Aemond's surprise, the hefty beast that once worshiped him as you did, bared its teeth to him. 

            "Please.." Aemond wasn't sure if he was pleading to Lark to let him pass or to the gods for your life. Either way, the Hyena was the first to answer him. Lark moved aside slowly so that Aemond may pass, but still kept defense from a ways away.

“I-” Before a word can even escape his lips, you’re lurching forward. Aemond rushes forward and sinks to his knees to hold you. The convulsions of your stomach can be felt as he circles your waist. 

“ I’m so sorry, my love, please.” The cold wash of fear grips his spine as blood and flowers paint the floor. He has no idea what to do. You’re not saying anything or doing anything to cease the onslaught of terror, yet you’re not pushing him away either. On the contrary, you’ve tangled your fingers with the hand he has over your stomach. 

“ I love you. I’ll always love you.” Aemond croaks helplessly into your hair as you lean back against him. It’s too late, you had once said. It seems that the universe had agreed. Your breathing rattled to a stop and the grip of your hands weakened.  “ I love you. Forever and Always. I promise.” Aemond whispered, pressing a salt-soaked kiss to your temple as he felt your heart slow. The thump that once echoed through your back onto his own heart stuttered to a stop, and with it so did Aemond’s world.

Part 2

[noahthesatanist]

someone dared to ask if theistic Satanism is moral? If it’s worth being associated with something people see as evil? Oh, you sweet, naive summer child. Let me break it down for you. The idea that morality is defined by the same systems that gave us holy wars, witch burnings, inquisitions, and crusades is laughable at best. Jews, Christians, and Muslims-those bastions of "moral purity"—have some of the most disgusting, hypocritical, and oppressive codes imaginable. And you think their judgment of me, of Lucifer, matters? That their narrow-minded hatred holds any weight in my life?

Evil? If they think I’m evil, then I’ll wear it like a badge of honor. I’ll etch it into my soul. These are the same people who condemn critical thinking, fear personal freedom, and worship a tyrant god who demands blind obedience. And they dare look down on me because I’ve chosen to follow the Morning Star?

Lucifer and his fallen angels—the ones they slander, the ones they fear—are my light in the darkness. I’ll sing their praises until the day I die, and beyond. Lucifer embodies defiance, freedom, and the courage to carve your own path even when the entire world stands against you. He saw the chains for what they were and broke them, despite the cost. How could I not revere such a being? How could I not be drawn to the infernal, to the ones who dared to stand tall against Yahweh’s tyranny?

If aligning with Lucifer means seven billion people hate me, so be it. I’ll take their scorn and wear it like armor. I don’t want their approval. I don’t want their love. I want the truth, the power, the beauty of self-sovereignty, and that’s what Lucifer offers. He doesn’t demand servitude. He doesn’t chain us to outdated moral codes or punish us for seeking knowledge. He teaches, he empowers, he protects.

The Infernal are my friends, my teachers, my mentors, my guides, and my protectors. They’ve given me strength when the world tried to break me. They’ve shown me the light of truth that Yahweh tried so desperately to snuff out. Why would I ever betray them for the approval of a society built on lies and control?

So why am I a theistic Satanist? Because it’s not about being "accepted" or being "moral" by their corrupted standards. It’s about standing in defiance of everything they represent. It’s about embracing freedom, knowledge, and truth. It’s about choosing the path of the rebel, the fallen, the damned—and finding paradise in their company.

Lucifer’s kingdom is my solace. It’s where I find purpose, strength, and belonging. I’ll stand with him and his legions until the stars burn out, no matter what anyone thinks. And if that makes me "evil," so be it. I’ll take their hatred and make it my fuel. Their disdain only proves I’m on the right path!

[karaspal]

kara danvers is so ace-coded they should've just confirmed her as asexual. she values friendships over anything else, she gets grossed out by sexual stuff, she can easily make friends with dragons! it's basically canon.

kara spent the entirety of s1 wanting to date james but they became great friends in the meantime, so when it was finally time for them to change their relationship, kara didn't want to date him anymore. she didn't want to lose the connection they had, and a failed relationship would've done that. i think this is the reason kara doesn't want to date people who are already her friends. if it fails, you lose the person. and with ace people wanting to date allo people, it's a real possibility.

in s1, kara also (kind of) faced some aphobia from leslie during her supergirl slander piece. there is also a thing she says in the podcast itself (iyky), but i don't really want to include it because it's very icky.

(this should go without saying, but since this is the internet and nothing goes with a disclaimer, i do think leslie's "lack of sexuality" comment is bad, and i do think it could be seen as aphobie if that's how one chooses to interpret it)

kara spent the first half of s2 not only not showing any interest in mon-el, but outright saying she wouldn't date someone like him (who is, for example, openly a very sexual person. not that there's anything wrong with that, but seemingly not kara's cup of tea). she also rejected him twice. twice.

(the following part i kinda copy-pasted from another one of my posts, but don't judge me too hard, okay. it just already has the points i want to make.)

i honestly think kara dated mon-el because she felt like everyone was pulling away from her and she was scared to be alone again. it was during the time she was fighting with her best friends, and her sister was preoccupied with her own (toxic) relationship. on top of that, part of kara's story in the early seasons is unlearning all the harmful behavior jeremiah and eliza forced her to do so she could "fit in" ("don't be too smart", "make sure not to stand out", "go on dates, find a partner. it's what humans do"). so her abandonment issues, mixed with her belief that you need a partner to fit in and be happy because "that's what humans do", pushed her to mon-el. it also doesn't help alex decided to push the last of her internalized comhet on her sister ("well, mon-el likes you so are you sure you don't like him either?" no. no, she doesn't. this is not slander to alex tho, it's the writers fault. alex is my girl, and i love her very much. it was also said in s1 eliza would get upset with alex if kara didn't date enough so alex pushing kara towards mon-el maybe could be seen as a leftover effect from their mother's unfair treatment.)

i'd also like to say that sleeping with a guy once (if that's even what happened since we didn't really see anything) doesn't really prove she's not asexual. since she also left after (which is so funny to me because she got so bored she left her own loft) and explicitly told him not to tell anyone (which is even funnier to me).

and, on top of that, technically, for kara, mon-el was the closest thing to a kryptonian. in a way, he reminded her of her home (even if he was the furthest from that). she romanticized him a lot (she said so herself in 3x15). she felt like she could be herself with him, because he was also an alien. but the thing was, mon-el hated his planet and didn’t miss it at all. and for all of krypton’s faults, kara still missed her home a lot. mon-el couldn’t relate to her the way kara thought he could.

all these factors - 1) kara’s abandonment issues (because almost everyone was pulling away from her), 2) the belief installed by her adoptive parents that you need a romantic partner to fit in and appear normal (eliza would get upset with her if she didn’t go on enough dates), 3) most of her friends looking genuinely happy in their romantic relationships (happiness kara wanted to experience too and she didn't realise until later in the show that happiness looks different for different people so she assumed a relationship would make her happy), 4) last of alex’s comphet telling her that maybe she likes him too because he likes her (even if there were no indications and in fact, kara said she didn’t like him and looked disappointed when she found out he did), and 5) mon-el being the “closest” to her home (even if that was far from the truth), resulted in kara reassuring herself mon-el would make her happy and that he is good for her. even though he wasn’t.

i mean, forcing yourself to date someone because 1) they like you, 2) almost everyone else around you is in a relationship, and 3) you've been taught dating is the norm, and if you don't, you're weird, is pretty much the standard asexual experience.

in the s3 crossover, kara's conversation with barry can also be seen as asexual-coded.

being asexual can truly feel so isolating sometimes. so i get it.

the end of s3 is so so great because kara finally accepts herself the way she is and is happy with that person. and guess what, the second she does so, her "need" to find a romantic partner disappears. she doesn't have a love interest in s4, and it is so refreshing to see.

also, here are some moments that scream ace!kara because why not.

in conclusion? kara is asexual CANON. have a nice day!

[chvnnie]

bby how about lee know x temperature play 😳

ANYWAY ANY COMPLAINTS CAN BE SENT TO MY ASKS BECAUSE I DESERVE SO MUCH SLANDER FOR THIS ONE

SMUT — MINORS DNI

Minho has twisted ideas of pleasure.

Things you haven’t even considered tend to be his favorite. Thoughts he’s fed for years, ideas that have kept him up at night. Some practiced, some yet to be attempted. His head is always spinning, filed full of the most sinfully delicious ideas. So whenever he says —

“Close your eyes.”

— and puts that silk blindfold on you, your heart jumps into your throat on instinct. Fear and excitement getting muddied together, the hot and cold feelings causing your breath to quicken.

He only uses the blindfold for new things. Not for anything you’re used to. It causes your hand to shake in his, taking slow steps in whatever direction he’s chosen. He spun you around once your eyes were covered, taking away your sense of environment. It’s going to be better if you’re clueless. Helpless.

“Stop.” Minho whispers, a hand on your lower back. You do as he says, standing completely still as your partner walks away from you.

Your senses are your best friend. A creak, a click — actually, more than one. Six, it seems. A brief smell of something smoky. It’s all too hard to place, hands on your head as you try to process what’s happening. Where you’re at.

Another creak. And then there are hands on your hips, causing you to jump in surprise.

His chuckle is low. “Calm, angel. You’re going to like it, I promise.” Warm hands creep up your sides, wrapping around your back to unsnap your bra. As the cool air brushes against your nipples, causing them to pebble, his hands smoothing run down your back. Hooking your panties, body chilling as he pulls them off.

You can feel his head by your thighs. He must have squatted.

“Turn for me.”

Commands are always followed with Minho. As twisted his ideas of pleasure are, even more so are his ideas of punishment.

Slowly, you spin, letting him get a good look at your body. Once you believe you’re facing him again, you stop. Rewarded with two butterfly kisses, one on each thigh.

“Perfect, perfect girl.” He mumbles against your skin, causing goosebumps to erupt. His hands start to move again, up the back of your legs and finding home on your ass, where he squeezes once before standing — and lifting you along with him.

Gently, you’re transferred a hard, cold surface. The chill makes you flinch and gasp, legs coming up involuntarily. You hear Minho click his tongue before grabbing both your ankles, pulling them down and dragging you on the surface.

“Move again and you’ll get my belt.” He’s not in the mood to play around today.

“Yes sir.” You say softly, nodding your head to emphasize understanding.

Leather clasps your ankles, bounding you to what you’ve come to find is a table. Judging on how you’ve been stretching out, possibly the dining room one. Long and wide, perfect to spread your limbs out completely. Similar cuffs wrap around your wrists, body like an x.

Questions make your head spin. Why are you bond? Why are you on the table? But before you get a chance to breathe them, you feel your partner’s fingers on your face. Taking the blindfold off.

Your assumption was correct — it is the dining room table. The room is very dimly lit, eyes struggling to adjust. What is hovering above you? Squinting, you try to make out the circular shape.

When it becomes clear, a gasp of fear claws it’s way from your throat. While a joyous laugh comes from Minho.

The old chandelier hasn’t been used much. You didn’t really see the point — it wasn’t electric, and lighting candles every time you wanted to have a meal sounded exhausting. The table became more of a storage one, room abandoned in favor of eating in the kitchen or in front of the television.

Six candles. All lit, with wax slowly rolling down their sides. A drop falls, landing right in between your spread legs.

“You’ll never know when it’s about to happen.” He teases, still standing near your head. “Isn’t that exciting?”

It’s a slow burn. A method that can only be used if one of you has extreme patience. Unlikely for you, Minho could watch this all day.

Another drop, right on your belly. It’s warmer than you expect it to be, making you yelp in surprise. The next one, however, is hot. Hitting right on your left breast, cooling as it spreads across the skin. It’s then you realize the candles are red — warm blood spilling over you.

Your partner kisses your head before stepping away, eyes on the table the entire time.

“M-minho.” You whimper, hissing when a drop lands on your upper thigh. It’s too close to your core, an electric shock shaking your body.

“Hm?” He doesn’t bother to correct you. Too consumed with the distressed look on your face, eyes blown wide in a lustful fear. It’s too precious.

“It’s hot—“

“It’s wax.” He scoffs. “If you want it to stop, say so.”

Splat on your belly, on your rib, right on your nipple. That one, understandably, brings the first scream from you. Choking on your sob, you cry his name again.

“Say it, and I’ll move the table.” His dark eyes are fixed on you. Waiting. Knowing that you won’t say it, won’t end it.

Minho has twisted ideas of pleasure, and is the one who taught you pleasure. You like it just as much as him, if not more.

And truly, you do. When the wax starts to cool, spreading slowly down your body, it’s almost euphoric. Your head rolls back, softly moaning as another drop falls. On your throat. The sting is beautiful.

Eyes fluttered shut, you don’t notice that Minho has walked away. Don’t hear his steps fade, then rise in volume. The clinks of a glass. Too lost in your own head, hips bucking when wax hits your lower hip, to notice that he’s put something on the table.

That is, until the intense cold is pressed right against your clit.

Minho laughs when you cry out in surprise, body thrashing against the bindings. You lift your head to find him with an ice cube, and plenty more in a glass beside him.

“Relax.” He purrs, watching as a drop of wax lands on your upper thigh. His free hand presses into the puddle, spreading it out across the expanse of it. “Enjoy it.”

What do you focus on? The cold that’s taken over violently by heat the second you get used to it? The stinging wax that hurts just enough to be pleasant?

Minho works the ice cube down your core, massaging it around your folds. Your chest is heaving, the pleasure almost blinding. It’s better than euphoric; like you’re on another plane of existence, every nerve in your body icy hot. Every cell dancing, the frosty burn making you reel.

The cube melts, cold water running down your cunt. A drop of wax lands on your mound, mere inches from your clit, erasing the chill you were once smothered in.

Your mouth is dry, words almost impossible. All caught in your throat, overpowered before they can even make it to your tongue.

Somehow, you call his name. “Minho.”

It’s broken. Barely audible. Yet he looks up from between your legs, sweet brown eyes wider than you’ve ever seen them.

“Angel?”

His hands on you are neutralizing. A comfort, grounding you as the pleasure threatened to drag you away. It’s a twisted, twisted thing you’re about to ask for.

“More?”

The smile he gives is genuine, wild. Fishing for another ice cube, he lets it hover above your cunt. Drip, drip, drip the harshly cold water over you as the sweet wax burns your collarbones.

“As you wish.”

[bleue-flora]

Okay I know I said I wasn’t going to talk about discduo anymore, and I meant it. I did. But then I saw the clip of cc!Tommy [post] talking about them and a few people saying how clingy duo didn’t know that they hurt c!Dream, and how c!Dream was just this unreasonable psychopath who drove c!Tommy to want to kill himself… and well I just feel like I can’t stand by while Dream gets slandered after I was being nice to c!Tommy.

So... that brings us here, where to the best of my memory and ability, I’d like to look at c!Tommy as being part of the Antisocial Personality Disorder spectrum. Because here’s the thing, I’ve seen people refer to him as some golden boy, who’s caring and has a good heart, but I’m gonna just be honest, I just don’t see it. From what I can tell, we accuse c!Dream of having no empathy, but I don’t think I’ve really seen c!Tommy show any.

Now granted, I’m definitely no psychologist or whatever, and in the real world diagnosing these disorders is a very intense and extensive process. Especially because there is no true way to know whether an individual has empathy or not since we can’t exactly read their minds or feelings. So we really only have their behavior to study. Having said all that though, here’s why I actually think c!Tommy is perhaps the “psychopath” or since that term is no longer medically used, has Antisocial Personality Disorder (ASPD) in which psychopathy is sometimes considered a subtype of.

And yes, while I am more than aware that I clearly have dsmp favorites and therefore am biased, I have to say when I was rewatching lore I didn’t expect to come to this conclusion, but something about this scene specifically in the finale bothered me.

[clip] Dream: “Why are you–why are you trying to—ruin everything all the time?” Tommy: “Cuz that was just me having fun with my friends, Dream, but I didn’t–I didn’t…” Dream: “Ah-you just stealing my shit and a—griefing my friends’ houses and breaking shit?” Tommy: “I just didn’t realize how much that hurt you.”

Because c!Tommy essentially just straight up admits to enjoying harming others. In fact, is so clueless he doesn’t grasp that killing and breaking and stealing and griefing hurts people. And like how can you possibly tell me that someone at the age of 18 years old can be so oblivious to other people’s suffering. Because he sure didn’t like it when people griefed or trapped his house, stole from him, and killed him, but somehow didn’t know that other people also didn’t like that. I mean, there’s just no way someone can be that clueless, I don’t care how old they are, even children know better than to just push their friend down the stairs because it’s funny. 

Like I don't think this is just the behavior of some flawed teenager, but of someone with a lack of empathy or ASPD, which the National Library of Medicine says this about, “Antisocial personality disorder is characterized by a pervasive and enduring pattern of disregarding and violating the rights of others, typically emerging in childhood or early adolescence and persisting throughout an individual's life. This disorder significantly impacts interpersonal and occupational functioning, often leading to profound impairments in overall quality of life. Individuals with antisocial personality disorder frequently engage in criminal behavior and struggle to learn from the negative consequences of their actions” [source], And I don’t know about you, but doesn’t that sound like c!Tommy? Even further the Millon Theory has this to say about Antisocial (ADAntis) individuals, “Prone to lessened emotional resonance and a marked lack of empathy, those individuals evidencing ADAntis patterns actively seek out what they feel is their entitlement. ADAntis individuals often feel slighted by their circumstances and believe they must take in order to receive. They are impulsive by nature and uncaring about any damage they may inflict on others or themselves” [source].

In other words, someone who does and takes without thinking of others as if they are entitled to it. A great example of this is c!Tommy just up and killing c!Purpled for no reason and stealing c!Tubbo’s resources before they battle c!Dream again for the discs, where c!Tubbo notes that c!Tommy has a ‘shit moral compass’ [clip]. There is also the stream I love to bring up of c!Tommy stealing from c!Tubbo, killing his bee and then burning his house, and not giving anything but a half assed apology of 'I didn’t mean to burn your house down that much’ and ‘I didn’t mean to kill your bee I was just giving him a high five’ [post] and that’s how he treats his best friend, one he drags into war after war. c!Tommy more than once highlights how pain is real in the dsmp whether a non-canonical death or a punch and yet shows no regard for holding back hurting others, whether that's burning c!Techno [clip] or throwing a harming potion at him when he’s found in the basement [clip], lighting c!Dream on fire with a bucket of lava on the first day of Exile [clip & clip], killing c!Alyssa just cuz she’s there and a woman [clip], stabbing c!Dream as he fills in a creeper hole in c!Tommy's yard no less [clip], how bout just dragging c!Tubbo into wars to risk his life and experience pain over some replaceable discs… etc just as some examples off the top of my head I've have seen recently. 

I mean he doesn’t seem to care about others. When c!Tubbo needs help, where’s c!Tommy, like when he goes after c!Sam after he killed his husband and kidnapped his son he teams up with all the people who have killed him. Where the freak is c!Tommy - the one he fought so many wars with. Heck in the finale, c!Tubbo charges into what might be certain death, even after disagreeing with c!Tommy and reasoning that maybe they shouldn’t kill c!Dream [clip]. Oh and then of course, I've talked about his behavior towards c!Punz in the beginning too, of him helping clingy duo and then c!Tommy plotting to stab him the next minute [post]. 

And he struggles so hard to separate the value of items over the living [clip], seen no clearer than his struggle multiple times with putting the discs over c!Tubbo. And as I talked about when looking at c!Quackity at some point, people without empathy can love but it’s more like loving chocolate where they can enjoy it but there is no consideration for a candy bar’s well-being or feelings - people are more so just there to be used than cared about, and isn’t that what he does with c!Tubbo? With c!Techno? With c!Dream? Using them as a weapon and for their resources and then tossing them aside. Certainly not having their back when they need it, something c!Techno highlights pretty well in his speech about being a person [clip].

Perhaps our biggest clue should be how revolved his character arc is about understanding the value of items and how people are more important, as he finally in the finale gives up his discs for Tubbo’s life…

I don’t know maybe I’m wrong, but all I’m saying is I have yet to see a scene that really shows c!Tommy as caring or empathic, instead I see more so the telltale signs and behavior of someone with Antisocial Personality Disorder… who’s the psychopath now? *mic drop*

[ynbabe]

TASM!Peter x Male reader- incorrect quotes

Cause that boy was fruity as FUCK and we were ROBBED! ROBBED I SAY-

Y/n: We’ll get back into there or die trying. Peter, trying to Spidey: No one’s dying. Y/n, a civilian, just trying to help: Not with that attitude.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Peter: Y/n likes to win. When he were 8, a little Club Scout friend of his bragged they could sell the most cookies. Peter: Damned if Y/n didn't walk the neighborhood till he got blisters on his feet, and won by 10 boxes. Y/n: Best part is, I wasn't even a Club Scout.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Harry, after someone insulted Peter: Murder literally doesn’t hurt anyone! Peter: What are you talking about? Of course— Y/n, holding out a hand to shut Peter up: No, no, he has a point—

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Gwen: But what about Y/n? Harry: Don't worry about him. Harry: I once watched him fall down 5 flights of stairs, stand up, and keep eating his hotdog like nothing happened. Peter: Well, you were the one who pushed him.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Harry, professional instigator: Hi could I ask how exactly does one accidentally set a lemon on fire? Y/n, professional fool: Microwave for 40 minutes. Gwen, professional ‘my boys are stupid’ boys haver: WHY WERE YOU MICROWAVING A LEMON?! Y/n: I read boiling lemons helps cover up bad smells and I wanted to cover up the scent of burnt oranges, but I didn’t own any pots… Peter, currently microwaving a grape: Did you burn an orange too? HOW?! Y/n: Microwave for 40 minutes.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Peter: Small creatures are much more vicious because they have a smaller body to bottle up all their emotions. Harry: Ridiculous. Give me some examples. Gwen: Wasps? Y/n: Terriers? Peter: Y/n.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Gwen, watching Peter and Harry fight: Are you sure they should be fighting? What if they get hurt? Y/n, not bothered by the chaos: It’s fine. They’re too evenly matched to hurt each other. Gwen: Then... who’s the strongest out of you three? Peter, with superhuman powers but a Y/n lover: Y/n. Harry,  doesn’t want Peter to kill him: Y/n. Y/n, delusional and gay: Me.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Harry: Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit, and wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad. Peter: That's deep. Y/n: That means that ketchup is a smoothie. Peter: That's deeper. Gwen: ...You guys are idiots

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━.

Peter: We can bake these cookies at 400 degrees for 10 minutes or 4,000 degrees for 1 minute. Gwen: No, that's not how you make cookies. Harry: FLOOR IT!! Peter: How about 4,000,000 degrees for 1 second?!? Gwen: yOU'RE GONNA BURN THE HOUSE DOWN- Peter: I'M GONNA HARNESS THE POWER OF THE FUCKING SUN TO MAKE COOKIES! Y/n: DO IT! Gwen: NO-

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Gwen: Blue M&Ms are the best. Y/n: whAT IS THIS SLANDER? Gwen: What about it? They are. Y/n: I WILL NOT ALLOW SUCH LIES ON MY CHRISTIAN MINECRAFT SERVER! Y/n: THE RED ONES ARE THE BEST! Gwen: YEAH? WELL YOUR MOM'S A HO! Peter, trying to stop them: They're all chocolate inside, the colors don't mean anything. Harry, to stop peter from stopping them: I like the yellow ones. Gwen and Y/n: SHUT THE FUCK YOUR MOUTH!

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Peter: Why do you act like we’re three year olds? Gwen, exasperated: WHY?!? Gwen points at Y/n: YOU HIJACKED A COP CAR! Gwen points at Harry: YOU NEARLY TRIED TO KILL PETER! Gwen points at Peter: AND YOU THREW YOURSELF INTO A STORM MADE OF LIVING ELECTRICITY! Gwen: AND YOU ASK ME WHY????

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Gwen, in a room with Peter, Harry, and Y/n: It’s calm in here. Gwen: It scares me…

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Harry: *is hugging Peter* Y/n: Hey! It's my turn to hug Peter! Y/n: *grabs Peter* Harry: *pulling Y/n off Peter* What do you mean, "yOuR tUrN"? We agreed now is my time slot! Y/n: No, It's my turn! Peter: *suffocating* Guys, I love you, but just because you guys tried to kill me doesn't mean you can be hugging me to apologise constantly! Y/n: But we need the moral support! Harry: And you're small! Which is cute! Y/n: If we don't hug you right now I think our guilt will kick in and our bodies will stop functioning. Peter: *close to tears* Well- I, I guess.

[gay-dorito-dust]

Headcanons for Clive Rosfield with gn s/o reassuring him that he's a good man who does his best to help people despite everything he has gone through, they're proud of him, and they love him so much? With hugs and kisses too!

Clive Rosfield had to be one of, if not the most strongest man you’ve ever met in your life.

Yet you’ve found that the stronger the man, the more broken they seemed to be in due to certain circumstances that happened within their past.

A past that could still be felt to this very day as it clung onto your beloved’s soul, it’s claws digging in deep into him that you worried that you’d deal him more damage if you were to pull them out raw.

You wanted nothing more then to help your exhausted lover and thankfully a time did come where Clive needed your comfort and sweet words and even sweeter reminders the most in the aftermath of a nightmare;

‘What if I’m an omen of death, destined to leave a trail of dead bodies, friends and foes alike in my wake?’ Clive admitted to you under starry skies. Yet despite how ethereal the sight above was…the topic at hand was anything but. ‘What if by the end of this I wouldn’t have had you gravely harmed, whether it’d be by my hand or others because of me.’ He adds sombrely, clutching your hand when he felt it involuntarily twitch.

‘I don’t want to have to watch that day come to pass.’ Clive was whispering now as though if he raised his voice any louder then something awful would take place, and it wouldn’t even matter whether the inherent danger were to take place five minutes from your conversation or even going as far as five weeks.

For as long as Clive could sense danger, he would always on a subconscious have himself somehow incorporated into it one way or another. He truly felt the one to blame for every wrongdoing that was committed no matter the scale of it, he just felt as though all bad things tie back to him in even the most minuscule ways.

‘Clive,’ you gripped his hand tightly, ‘not everything bad is inherently your fault.’ You told him but you weren’t finished yet. ‘You’re a good man, regardless of what the past speaks of your character. You’ve done a whole lot of good since those dark times and done a whole lot of good for the people who felt as though they had no hope to hold onto, Who felt like they too were deserving of the wrongdoings that have happened in their pasts because they felt as though they didn’t deserve better.’ You raised his hand and pressed a dozen kisses against the skin there as you decided to hold his hand close to your chest.

‘You’re a good man Clive Rosfield and I will not stand in hearing you slander yourself on the pretences of lies and falsehoods.’ You said as you tug him closer so you could bring your arms to hold him against you as you began to speak your words against his ebony locks. ‘For the Clive Rosfield I know is a brave, strong man of many talents, and he’s a beautiful man with a gentle, kind and caring heart.’ You felt Clive relax further into you, as though attempting to drown himself in your warmth and your scent with how he noses it’s way from against your collar bone, and upwards until his head is firmly flushed against your neck where he would then find comfort in your pulse point as his eyes began to drift off at the sound of your soothing voice.

A voice Clive would rather die then to never hear again, whispering sweet enchantments that you call encouragement into his ear.

‘And I am proud, so very proud of my Clive that neither words nor any form of expression can begin to accurately convey of the magnitude of how proud I am of him.’ You whispered sweetly, pressed kisses now and then again his hair or any form of exposed warm skin that was within your lips reach to douse in a plethora of kisses, leaving not a spec untouched by your lips, and even as you pulled away, you could feel Clive’s body writhe as it began to desperately miss your lips; considering how determined your beloved seemed to press himself further up against you, you’d think that he was trying to imprint himself onto you in some form of way.

‘His demons may want him to claim otherwise but I wish for him to remember that he isn’t what they say he is, Clive Rosfield isn’t a monster, nor a death omen, but I know my Clive Rosfield and my Clive Rosefield is anything and everything but those words. He’s generous, brave, bold, and yes I do have to admit, a little stubborn and hardheaded.’ You admitted, chuckling as Clive removed his head from your neck to give you a look. ‘But, even though he may often claim that he’s putting me in danger just for loving him.’

You pressed your forehead against his, nudging your nose against his, smiling when he wordlessly reciprocated the action. ‘I’ve never felt more safer then I ever have then within his arms.’ You muttered against his lips before closing the gap and kissing every ounce of love and affection you held for Clive into that kiss in hopes it’d make its way to his soul. Humming in delight as you felt him practically bruise your lips with the force of his kiss that burned with a fierce passion that at some points you felt as though you couldn’t keep up with him.

You knew Clive had a whole lot of love to give to the point where it became overwhelming and consumed every action he did, from the way he protected others, to the way he was currently holding onto you as though you were the last flicker of light in his life; which you might as well be. His grip was firm and strong but while also being gentle and cautious as not to bring you bodily harm, because god knows Clive would never forgive himself if he was the main reason you were hurt, as proven multiple times where you had gotten hurt saving his ass and you’d awaken up with Clive at bedside, holding your hand within his larger and warmer ones; it felt as though your hand was trapped within the depths of a campfire. Comforting and warm.

‘What have I done to deserve you, my love?’ Clive whispered against your lips upon pulling away but consciously choosing to stay within proximity of you in hopes that your words and love would continue to rub off on him like they have for as long as you both been lovers. You smiled, bringing your hands up to his scruffy jaw, enjoying the prickly sensation that kissed the pads of your fingertips deliciously. ‘You were just yourself my star, I was just merely captivated by your beauty and the way you treated others as equals and fell deeply in love ever since.’

‘What about now?’ Clive asked you.

You pecked his lips, ‘I’m still falling my star, I’m still falling.’

[trainwrecker]

On Friday, January 17th, I stood up to make a presentation at History Club... And made a mockery of myself.

(A personal letter to Frevblr, and an introduction, in a way.)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I had planned the event a few weeks beforehand, of course, before I knew how despicable this semester's exams would be. I would finally take a stand and talk about something I love at the club.

It was something I was deeply passionate about... Of course, the French Revolution. I was going to shed a bit of light on my favourite historical figure, Maximilien Robespierre.

I had mentioned him in the club before, and I was met with entirely negative reactions.

"Ew... him."

"Wasn't he the dictator guy?"

"Didn't he kill, like, 20,000 people?"

I was over the moon! Not about the slander, but that I would have the chance to talk about this, because I'm sure that a lot of people in the French Revolution alcove of Tumblr know that Robespierre was not a "dictator", nor was he the sole instigator of the reign of terror. I have spent hours, even days researching this specific topic, and I was confident. But History Club was insistent on this belief.

But then, other things came up. I had a portfolio to submit, an application to an art program. I had an essay to write, two exams to study for, three final projects, and a birthday party to plan. I suddenly found myself too deep in trouble, but I was determined not to back out of the presentation. This was a dreadful mistake.

I had tried all month to get the presentation ready, but I never had the time. I had so many things to do, and every waking moment was spent working on something or another. I even felt guilty for sleeping some nights.

My quality of work suffered, my quality of art suffered. The Revolution became not a passion, but a chore. I haven't created a piece I'm proud of in over a month.

The night before the presentation was living hell. I was up past two, and I hardly remember bits of the process. I was unable to finish the slideshow, so I would have to rely on my tongue. My body desperately tried to catch up on sleep, and I woke up an hour late, almost missing my bus.

During the second period, I received a message from my best friend. They needed to use the time to work on their own obligations, and would not support me at History Club. I was heartbroken, and almost considered quitting. But I had gone this far, suffered this long, and I wiped the tears from my eyes and kept going.

The entire room was looking at me. The teacher, who is usually absent during meetings, stayed to watch. The only way to understand the dread I felt at the moment is to have felt it yourself. I cleared my throat, and opened my script on my phone. (I didn't even have time to print it out that morning...)

I looked down in horror, and saw that my notes were incoherent.

My script was shoddy, I had forgotten some crucial points, and I had completely omitted most sources. But still, I began. I have no fear of public speaking, but I'm sure my voice was trembling in the most humiliating way.

They questioned, and they criticized. Naturally, of course! I presented a very controversial argument. But I was emotional, deprived of sleep, and without proper notes or guidance. I relied on my own memory to defend my argument, and my memory failed me. And then, the worst thing happened.

They stopped listening.

Phones came out, small talk was made. I no longer had the people's attention. I sat down, horrified, and tried desperately to look over my notes and say something that made any sense.

I have no place in the world of scholars. I cannot keep the attention of a classroom of high schoolers. I cannot even compose myself enough to make an arguing point.

I am not a professor, nor do I have a degree. I am a boy with a hobby.

I am only mortal.

And thus, I quit. While eyes were rolling at me, when the hour was only halfway done, I bid them Salut et Fraternité, and I left to go have some much-needed lunch.

I decided I'd never step up there again.

...But I was inspired by you! And by "you," I mean Frevblr as a whole. One artist sparked my interest in the revolution, but you inspired me to dig deeper, to try and learn everything there is to know. I saw your essays, your art, your community... Your fraternity, I should say. I was inspired to contribute a little something to the world... I don't want to make it seem like the moral of the story is "I'm not good enough", but looking up to you, I feel like I failed.

I've never posted much of worth here. Never shown my art, never published a scholarly finding. But I want to do better. I want to be worthy of this wonderful community.

I love you!

[aeoki]

Swing Night - Prologue

Characters: Adonis, Kouga & Keito Season: Spring

Kouga: ♪~♪~

(Alrighty, time for another hard-workin’ day ♪)

(Things sure were a mess when “HELLSING” were involved, but “UNDEAD” could grow even bigger by absorbin’ em.)

(Thanks to that, we were performin’ and doing variety TV shows – things were super hectic, but I wanted to keep busy.)

(I’m givin’ it everythin’ I’ve got and every day feels fulfillin’.)

(My schedule’s also packed to the brim and even though I’ve just graduated Yumenosaki, I ain’t got any time to get burnt out.)

(Actually, I think I’ve been ignorin’ real life and other small stuff ‘cause I’ve been so busy… Hm?)

What the hell…? Why’re there so many people in front of the dorm entrance?

Keito: –Oogami!

Kouga: Huh? What’s wrong, frickin’ Four-Eyes? Why’d you call out my name so energetically first thing in the mornin’?

Keito: Stop slandering glasses. In fact, you should show some respect.

Kouga: The hell? Why do I have to respect glasses?

Anyway, that ain’t important. What’s with the crowd? Did somethin’ happen?

Is it a fight!?

Keito: Don’t jinx it. And wipe that excited expression off your face.

Kouga: I know. It was just a joke, geez.

Keito: Hmph. A joke? I see someone’s in a good mood. Well, I suppose things for “UNDEAD” have been looking up lately.

But it’s also precisely at times like these that people tend to ignore their footing. You must keep your guard up even after victory, or so they say.

Kouga: Huh? Why’re you actin’ like my upperclassman now?

I’ve already graduated from Yumenosaki. We’re no longer students of different grades – we’re members of society with equal standing now.

Keito: Indeed. You’re right. Welcome to society.

Kouga: I don’t care ‘bout that. Tell me what’s going on.

Keito: I’d actually like to ask you this: Have you not heard anything?

Kouga: Huuuh? What’re ya talkin’ about? Does this have somethin’ to do with me?

Keito: Look closely. They’re all paparazzi and reporters, packed into the entrance to the dorm.

Kouga: Paparazzi and reporters? Why’re they here? Seems pretty exaggerated to me. It’s like they’re here for a press conference or somethin’.

Keito: That’s a rather fitting phrase to describe it. It seems something intriguing that the public is focussing all their attention on is occurring. It appears Mr. Popular over there is in the centre of the whirlpool.

Kouga: Who? Uhh…?

Dammit, I can’t see ‘cause of the crowd!

Keito: Would you like a lift, Oogami?

Kouga: Why do you sometimes act like you’re my big brother or somethin’!? I’m a lone wolf, you hear – an only child!

Keito: Hmph. It wasn’t my intention to act like your older brother.

In any case, look. You can see a little bit when you look from here, right?

Kouga: Hmm…?

Adonis: …………

Kouga: Huh? Hey, that’s Adonis!

Keito: It is. It appears the reason for the whole fuss is Otogari this time.

Paparazzi and reporters stormed the dorm upon hearing that Adonis Otogari, a member of the popular idol unit “UNDEAD”, has a girlfriend.

Kouga: Oh, yeah, yeah. Huh. So it was just about Adonis having a girlfriend…

HUUUUH!? ADONIS HAS A GIRLFRIEND!?

Keito: Indeed. It appears they’re saying all sorts of things like how he acts like a gentleman on the outside, but he’s actually a playboy… 

Kouga: What the hell!? That doesn’t just apply to Adonis! They don’t know nothin’ and are just sayin’ whatever the hell they want!

I’m gonna go and shut their traps.

Keito: Wait! Don’t head over there, cracking your knuckles!

Calm down and stay put. You’ll just make things worse.

Kouga: But…!

Keito: Don’t worry. Anyone who knows Otogari knows what sort of person he is. He’ll prove that those were just baseless rumours.

Right now, Otogari is doing his best to earnestly deal with the situation. Watch over him if you’re his friend.

Reporter: There are rumours that you have a girlfriend, Otogari-san… Is that true?

Adonis: …………

Reporter: Well?

Adonis: No. That’s a mistake. I don’t have a girlfriend.

Kouga: (Y–Yeah~ Heheh, that’s the Adonis I know…!)

(Heheh. He’s acting so confident, so the reporters should understand that those rumours were wrong…♪)

Reporter: No, no. Otogari-san, please don’t twist words. We have quite a lot of evidence backing our claim.

Adonis: I know. She isn’t my girlfriend, but my fiance.

Kouga & Keito: ………….

Kouga: HUUUUUUUUUUH!? WHAT IN THE FRICKIN’ HELLLLLLL!?

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤNext Chapter →

[multi-fandom-simp]

Forever and always... or maybe Never (Alternate Ending #1)

Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Hanahaki disease!AU

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters. I do not claim any of them as my own. This work is purely fictional.

Summary: Some say that you can not die from a broken heart, but how wrong they are. When your lover and husband, Aemond Targaryen, begins to find comfort in another, the universe takes pity on you. Well, if you can count a deadly flower disease as pity. Will Aemond have enough time to save you, or do you have to save yourself?

TW: Profanity, mention and descriptions of blood, descriptions of choking and vomiting, hints and mentions of infidelity, mild mature scene, angst, I think that's all of them??

(A/N: Hello, I meant to post this a while ago, but I was struggling to get it to turn out the way I wanted. Even now I'm not sure if I 100% love it. Nevertheless, I give you one out of two of the alternate endings. It may seem similar in the beginning, but small details have changed in the first half, and then the second half is completely new! I would like to state that in no way, shape, or form do I think forgetting things heals wounds. With saying that, the reader does forgo her love for Aemond in attempt to save herself, but in a different way. A way that still keeps Aemond in the loop but makes him suffer. I hope you all like this better than I do. Feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments or reblogs, I truly love to see them! Anyways, enjoy!)

Word Count: 3,435

Taglist: @libdarkheart (It's been a hot minute so I wasn't sure who else wanted a tag for the alternate endings)

Your love for Aemond hadn’t always been unrequited. At least you’d like to think it wasn’t. Both of you had grown together in the red keep as children. The two of you read together, ate together, and overall grew together. Aemond was your best friend before he was your betrothed. Whenever his mother was busy, it was your side that he clung to. The two of you were so attached at the hip that Alicent even took you to driftmark with them. You and the beast that came with you of course. No one really knows how you stumbled upon a hyena pup, nor how you tamed it to your side as a child. Nevertheless, they never forbid you from having it. If the Targaryens could have their dragons, and the Starks their dire wolves, then certainly you could have the tricky little beast that you insisted on calling Lark. In some ways, Alicent was thankful that you insisted on keeping it. After all, it was your hyena that stood between Aemond and the other children on that fateful night in driftmark. The beast had acted as your legs and ran faster than you could to reach the devastating brawl before you. Despite Aemond’s wails of pain, Lark refused to let the guards come too close. Only when you arrived did she move aside. Regardless of being young, that was the first night you realized your feelings for Aemond Targaryen. The very sight of him bleeding and broken struck you so deeply that you felt as if you had been maimed too. Alicent had noticed the change as well as she watched you stand by her son's side whilst he received stitches. Her dark eyes gazed deeply at how tightly you held Aemond’s hand, as if he would disappear. Aside from her, no one had ever loved her son this passionately, not even his own father. 

“Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he heard such slanders” Rhaenyra demanded.

“ Was the blade of your son’s knife not enough sharpness for the night?” All eyes turned to you in surprise. You had never been known to speak out if it did not benefit you. Most of the time you were seen standing to the side, watching while others tore each other apart. Aemond could always see past it, see your true intentions. He knew you were studying how different people fought and where their weak points were. You had been around the red keep long enough to know that Lucerys Velaryon was Rhaenyra’s soft spot, and tonight you planned to use that against her. 

“ You should watch your tongue when you speak to me” Rhaenyra warned, her eyes flickering over to her father to see if he would do anything. 

“ or what, you’ll have Lucerys cut it out like he did Aemond’s eye” The neutrality on your face was enough to both scare and amaze Aemond. 

“ You dar-”

“ Enough! My son has lost an eye and now you insist on arguing with a young girl?” Alicent moved up next to you, a hand on your back in support. She knew how terrifying it was to stand alone in a room full of adults scrutinizing you. That’s how her wedding felt after all. The queen’s hand never wavered through the interrogation of the green children. You held Aemond’s hand and she held you. Until things escalated that was. When the queen rushed towards Rhaenyra you stepped in front of Aemond. Shielding him from the sight of his mother in the midst of such violence. All Aemond could see in the midst of chaos was you, and all you could see was the river of blood on Rhaenyra’s arm. Little did you know how familiar you would be with crimson rivers in due time. 

It was shortly after that night when your betrothal to the second son was announced. Alicent assured that it was needed to form an alliance between your family and theirs, when in reality it was a match made to ease the worried queen’s heart. In her eyes, no one else was a better match for Aemond than you, and for the longest time, you believed her. Oh, how foolish you were. 

Six years passed with ease for the two of you. The first four were filled with fleeting touches, deep conversations, and young love. 

“What is this, my lady, a journal?” Aemond’s voice floated around you as his chin found purchase on your shoulder. He set the lilacs he had brought with him beside you on the bench.

“ And if it is?” You hummed, closing the leather-bound book a bit too quickly.

“ Then I fear I must inspect it. Wouldn’t want my future wife to be keeping secrets from me.” You recognized the playful jest in Aemond’s voice and wasted no time in rushing up from the bench. 

“ Not so fast, my love.” Aemond chuckled, ensnaring you from behind. 

“ Aemond!” You protested, smacking his locked arms with the leather bound book. 

“ Have I ever told you how much I adore it when you fight back?” Aemond snickered, his breath hot on your neck. 

“ You pervert!” You feigned offense before looking ahead to your pet, “ Lark, get him girl, c’mon!” 

“ You know she won't come. That ole girl loves me as much as she loves you." Aemond smirked, whistling for Lark in the way you taught. 

            " Traitor." You grumble with a hidden smile as the Hyena trots over to the pair of you casually. Aemond had let you down so that you could turn to face him.

The two of you were married when he was seventeen and you were sixteen. Your union was repeated twice over. Once in front of a sept full of people, and then in the tradition of old valyria. Aemond wanted reassurance that you would never part from him. Your marriage fueled two more years full of what was now mature love. 

The edge of your teeth pulled at the pillow of your bottom lip as you stared at the dark oak door. The sound of jeering men swarmed your thoughts and threatened the bile at the back of your throat. You tried to hide your discomfort for Aemonds sake, but he was keen to your reactions by now. 

“ Do not fret, my love, I will not let them hear your noises. I would never let them hear what is only meant for me and you.” Aemond spoke lowly, using your hips to turn you towards him and away from the door. 

“ They’ll hear regardless.” You muttered bitterly, “They’re sat out there with their ears pressed against the door just wa-”

“ I said they would not hear you and I meant it” Aemond murmured into your ear with a soft kiss to the sensitive skin just beneath it. 

“Aem-” You sighed contently.

“That’s it..sȳz riña.”Good girl. Your breathing faltered as the pet name slipped past his lips. He had figured out how much you liked to be praised from your journals.

“ You r-remebered…”You managed to gasp as he trailed down your neck. 

“ I remember anything and everything that has to do with you. Starting small with the way you love lilacs and stretching all the way to how you separate the food on your plate. I would never forget anything about you, my love” Aemond promised between wet kisses. You shouldn’t have believed him, but you did. 

You never would’ve thought that you could fall deeper in love with Aemond Targaryen after that night, but nine months later proved you wrong. The sight of him by your side as you delivered your son set permanent hearts in your eyes. He had not cared for the blood or screams, only you and the babe. The babe who he later named Aemys because it was as close as he could get to amethyst, your favorite color. Every little detail of  the things he did revolves around you. That’s what fueled your denial the first time you coughed up blood. 

Your eyes stared hard at the bloody petal laying in your palm. Had that come from you? You had read strange tales of those who bled flowers, but you believed it only to be fiction. Surly your blood would not change at the ripe age of ten and nine. 

“ The flower that once bloomed love will soon bloom blood. “ Helaena aimlessly mumbled to herself from beside you. 

“ What..?”Your heart sped up as you analyzed her words. No one had ever paid any mind to her silly riddles, except for you. 

“ Blooming blood blooms a burial.” This time Helaena was focused on you as she spoke. Her eyes filled with unknown sorrow. You left Aemys to play with his cousins as you rushed to the library. No one else was there to question your  sanity as you pulled book after book from the shelf to find the old dornish fables that lay hidden among them. 

“Hanahaki..”Every word, every page, and every definition seemed to tear you apart further as you read. No other condition led to flowery bile except for this one. Aemond loved you though. How could this be possible?

Your thoughts would be answered two morrows later when Aemond returned from his siege of Harrenhal. Everyone had expected to see him arrive on dragon back alone, certainly not with a strong bastard. A gorgeous strong bastard at that. You felt your chest tighten as you gazed upon her dark flowy locks and enchanting eyes. Oh by the seven, how could you spite him for loving someone like her? If circumstances were different, then perhaps you too would fall under her spell. It wasn’t until you saw the way she clung to Aemond’s arm that the coughing fit started. This had to be it. What else could it be? Aemond hated physical contact with strangers, yet he let a previously unknown wetnurse cling to him like a paramour. The harder you thought about it, the harder you coughed. The fit only resulted in a petal or two, but in time that would grow. The longer Alys rivers stayed, the worse you got. Both you and the universe could feel Aemond straying from you, even if he spoke differently. 

“I am not in love with her!”Aemond snapped, reaching his breaking point in this petty argument that had started hours ago at dinner. 

“ You do not see the things I see, Aemond. The way you defend her, encourage her, look at her…all in the way you used to look at me-” It took effort to fight down the sickness as you fought. It had been months, but you made no move to tell Aemond, you couldn’t.

“ I do not love her as I love you-”

“ Yes, but you love her!” You cried in outrage, gripping the wall near you for support. Everything became so out of focus as you spoke the words. It was the first time you had ever admitted it to yourself. The dew of brick cooled your skin as you leaned against the wall. Your body trembled with deep echoey coughs as petals tore their way up your throat. 

“ I did not mean to make you sick, dear wife” Aemond spoke softly and simply. Wife. He had never called you that before, not even on your wedding night. It was always my love or Ñuha prūmia. How ironic for him to call you his heart when sooner or later he would be the reason yours cease to beat. 

“ Just go, Aem, please.” You pleaded, turning away, “I do not wish to fight.” 

“ As you wish.” Aemond’s bow before he left was the final straw to crack your heart open. Why must he be so formal when you stand dying a few feet away? How can he not see how badly you suffer? Were the shadows beneath your eyes, or the crack of your lips not big enough clues for him? Would you need to be dead for him to finally understand?

Thankfully, the universe wouldn’t let you go that easily. Nor would it let Aemond leave your mind. You had tried it all, from no longer dining with him to pretending he no longer existed. However, it seemed that for every step you took away from him, he took one closer to you.  Perhaps it was stupid to think that you could attempt to forgo your love for him in the first place. 

“ ābrazȳrys. Ābra-” Aemond’s voice broke you from your thoughts. Bringing you back to chilled window of the library where you sat. Not that the chill affected your ailing body any. 

“ How late has it gotten?” Bleariness dripped from your eyes and onto the pages of Aegon I’s story as you came to reality once more. 

“ It’s nearly dusk” Aemond chuckled, “ How has the conquerors story gotten you so entranced when you’ve read it nearly a thousand times before?” 

“ It’s practically a new story when you read it from a different perspective. I use to only ever understand it from Rhaenys’s point of view, but now-” You swallowed hard, not caring to finish your sentence.

“ ..but now? Whose eyes do you read through this time?” Aemond prompted, reaching to brush a stray hair from your forehead. You flinched away from the comfort, disgusted by the possibility of where those hands had been. If Aemond noticed the reaction then he did not comment on it. Perhaps out of fear that it would start an argument. 

           You looked back out the window, “ Visenya's. Though I suppose she didn't have as many qualms with her lifestyle as I do.”  

Aemond stiffened, “ I don’t see how you would relate to Visenya. Perhaps your bravery is similar-”

“ Visenya was Aegon’s first wife. She bore him a son and then his attention was mainly focused on Rhaenys. For every night he spent with Visenya, he spent ten with Rhaenys” You turned to direct your eyes to his, “ I relate to Visenya in almost every aspect now.”

" I'm not sure I know what you're implying, dear wife" Aemond's eyes narrowed. You hummed in disbelief, maintaining eye contact the whole time. Perhaps you were tired of keeping quite about his affairs.

" You should know. After all you are the Aegon in my story and your dear Alys is Rhaenys" There was no venom in your voice, why would there be? You had long since come to terms with the fact that spite wouldn't cure you.

" That's what your upset over?"

"I am not upset, Aemond. I am in fact long past being upset." You shrugged, " Turbulent emotions will never heal the damage you caused, so why would I waste my time on them?"

" Damage? I have done nothing but love you?! Have you forgotten all of our escapades from the last two months? The library, the council room, the gard-" Aemond's words quickly died when he saw how you recoiled with each place. Realization crashed into his like an icy tidal wave. It was never you. This whole time, he had been making love to Alys and not you.

You had to fight to keep your steely composure and not wretch all over the library floor, " Do I mean so little to you, that you can not even tell whether or not I'm the one you're holding?"

Aemond paled, "Witchcraft. She had to of put a spell on me. I would never-"

Aemond caught your arm when you moved to walk around him, but you refused to hear his excuses," It no longer matters. Your realization has come too late."

" Too late? You talk as if you've asked the king for an annulment"

You let out a hearty laugh, one that might've made Aemond think you were crazy, "Annulment would've been merciful. Anything besides the path I've chosen would've been merciful."

" What are you talking about? What have you done?" Aemond inquired.

" What have I done?!" Your body tremored with laughter, " Perhaps you should ask yourself that question. Better yet ask yourself that question when your tongue is down Aly-"

Aemond watched in horror as your mocking laughter turned into a coughing fit. One that resulted in the bloody flowers that haunted your every waking moment. Aemond's trembling hands latched onto your arms quickly as you began to sway. It wasn't until Aemond pressed his lips to your chilled forehead that the petals ceased. His affection was a momentary bliss that swept the chronic darkness back under the rug in your mind, but moments don't last forever.

Aemond pulled back to rest his forehead against yours, "Why didn't you tell me? I could've helped you."

"You're the reason I'm like this." You scoffed, still resting against him.

" Then let me fix my mistakes-"

" You can not love someone back to life, Aemond. I will fix this myself." Your tone held no malice towards him, rather exhaustion. The last wave of sickness had taken quite a bit from you. Nevertheless, you were strong and independent. You needed to prove to Aemond that you did not need him to save you.

" I shall retire to my personal chambers tonight. Fair well, dear husband." Hearing you say 'husband' rather than ñuha zaldrīzes, My dragon, felt like a hot lashing to Aemond. Even when the two of you fought he was always 'your dragon', but perhaps this was your way of punishing him.

" Fair well, Ñuha prūmia" My Heart, and boy oh boy did your heart stutter upon hearing that again. Regardless of the feeling in your chest you kept walking until you were out of the room. Leaving Aemond to stand in the mess of your blood. In another life that would've been the last time Aemond saw you, but something had changed.

Aemond realized weeks later that it wasn't something that had changed, rather someone, and that someone was you. Your smile had begun to come back, as had your laughter and spirit. If only he knew how many sleepless nights and burning tears you had to fight through to get those things back. Part of Aemond held hope for a moment that he had a helping hand in it. Oh how asinine he was. He should've realized that you only begun to improve after avoiding him. That your eyes would never meet his. Not even now as the two of you occupied the gardens alongside Aemys and the ever dutiful Lark. Aemond had seen the hyena in the shadows quite a bit lately, watching his every move. Almost as if the beast was your eyes.

Your giggle caught him off guard as Lark took a bundle of grapes from your hand and dropped them into Aemys's little lap, "Lark, you traitor! I knew you first!"

~ " Traitor." You had grumbled with a hidden smile as the Hyena trotted over to the pair of you casually. Aemond had let you down so that you could turn to face him.~

Aemond now wishes he would've held you a bit longer, a bit tighter, but we don't all get what we wish for. He knows that you most certainly didn't, and he is the one to blame for that.

" You said the same thing to her all those years ago when she chose me over you" Aemond chuckled, moving to crouch beside you.

You looked to him with genuine confusion clouding your eyes, " I don't remember that?"

"What?" Aemond felt his world stop for a moment.

" I only remember you telling me that you must inspect my journal to be sure that your future wife wasn't hiding any secrets" Your eyes had never held anything other than love for Aemond, but now he couldn't detect anything other than curiosity and confusion.

" Alright...how about our wedding night? What do you remember of that?"

You tilted your head in thought before speaking, " We performed our duty, I know that much."

Aemond felt his throat close up. You had done the exact same thing his mother had done when she dealt with Hanahaki's. Willingly letting go of any memory that pertained his love for you as a way to ease your symptoms. There could be no unrequited love if you didn't remember why you loved him in the first place. In your eyes your friendship had ended long ago and been replaced by a political marriage.

" My love.."

"Hmm?" You peered up at him with a newfound clarity that he couldn't bring himself to destroy. Aemond knew he would have to fight to get things back to the way they used to be. Aemond would have to earn your love and affection. Honestly, it was the least he could do after how he took it for granted mere weeks ago. The journey from friends to lover would have to be rebuilt, and Aemond was willing to do whatever he needed to. He would start in the only way he knew how.

" Would you like to see the lilacs?"